The Kurdish Woman

By Luis Rousset

The Kurdish Woman is a love story between two characters from very different cultures. John Davenport an American Army Special Forces officer. Arya Sintesi is the beautiful and sophisticated daughter of a Turkish politician, and an Agent of Turkey’s secret service. The story chronicles their parallel adventures, after a torrid encounter in Istanbul they are separated. John has an active career in the Army fighting terrorists in Lybia, Jihadists in France, and the Taliban in Afghanistan. Arya, after marrying Homer, her Turkish diplomat fiancé, moved to Madrid, and was tasked with missions in England, Germany, and Paris. Six years after their initial meeting in Ankara, John and Arya unexpectedly ran into each other at which occasion John found out that they had a daughter. John was promoted as Attaché to Tel Aviv, and took part in Israeli missions in Southern Lebanon and in the Gaza Strip. He was deployed undercover to Jordan. After a few years, Arya’s husband passed away and she returned to Turkey. Back home she was arrested during a covert operation in northwest Syria, was tortured and jailed in Tadmore prison, Palmyra. After returning from Jordan, John discovered that Arya had been arrested by the Syrians. He’s going to move heaven and earth in an attempt to try to save her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Sep 30, 2022
• ISBN: 9781665572088

Luis Rousset

El Dr. Luis Rousset se graduó en la Universidad de Stanford en 1971, obteniendo un doctorado en Ingeniería Mineral. Durante su carrera, realizó trabajo de campo a lo largo y ancho de Sudamérica, explorando y ofreciendo asesoría a diversas operaciones mineras. También estuvo en los consejos de dirección de varias empresas de prestigio, como BP Mining Brasil. En la actualidad es miembro del consejo asesor de una empresa minera de cobre en Brasil. El Dr. Rousset y su esposa comparten su tiempo entre su casa en Río de Janeiro y su apartamento en Manhattan. Acostumbrado a los documentos técnicos y científicos, en los últimos años comenzó a escribir obras de ficción, exponiendo a sus lectores a algunos de los entornos más agrestes y de difícil acceso que ha conocido durante su vida profesional. El Alba es su segunda novela, y está ambientada en las alturas de la cordillera de los Andes peruanos.

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© 2022 Luis Rousset. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 09/24/2022

ISBN: 978-1-6655-7209-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-7207-1 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-7208-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022917978

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Chapter 1 Ankara

Chapter 2 Dresses

Chapter 3 Arya

Chapter 4 Istanbul

Chapter 5 Two Days in Asia

Chapter 6 Return to Ankara

Chapter 7 Decision

Chapter 8 Returning Home

Chapter 9 Mission

Chapter 10 Kristen

Chapter 11 Sigonella Naval Air Station, Sicily

Chapter 12 Morón de La Frontera, Spain

Chapter 13 Chasing Terrorists

Chapter 14 Paris, City of Lights

Chapter 15 Kristen Reviewed

Chapter 16 Posted in London

Chapter 17 Activists

Chapter 18 Playing the Game

Chapter 19 Conflict

Chapter 20 The Isle of Skye

Chapter 21 Afghanistan, Germany, and Washington

Chapter 22 Life Threat

Chapter 23 Unexpected

Chapter 24 Army Intelligence

Chapter 25 Essen

Chapter 26 The Encounter

Chapter 27 Israel

Chapter 28 London

Chapter 29 Israeli Tank Commander

Chapter 30 Denouement

Chapter 31 Syria

Chapter 32 Syrian Military Security

Chapter 33 The Search

Chapter 34 Planning the Mission

Chapter 35 Palmyra

Chapter 36 The Return

Chapter 37 On the Shores of Lac Léman

Chapter 38 Going Home

Chapter 39 Epilogue

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CHAPTER 1

Ankara

Autumn 2004

John Davenport awoke as the airplane started its descent into Ankara Esenboga International Airport. It had been a long flight from Washington, DC, with a change of planes in Munich. Before that, he had driven from North Carolina to meet his sister, Abigail, at Dulles Airport; she was traveling with him.

This was only his second international flight. His long frame and the narrow coach-class seats were a bad fit. To compound his discomfort, his sister had fallen asleep with her head on his shoulder.

He didn’t have the heart to wake her, which prevented him from resting for a long stretch of the voyage. Luckily, they were sitting in a side row of two, and John had the aisle seat, which allowed him some relief, by stretching his legs, for brief periods, into the passageway. At age twenty-four, this was his first true time off since attending West Point Military Academy. Recently promoted to first lieutenant, he had been serving as an infantry officer at Fort Bragg for the past year.

And now, he and his sister were going to visit their parents. Abigail—or Abby, as family and friends knew her—was pretty, with blue eyes and blonde hair. She was five years younger than John, and the teenager loved to tease her older brother. It was something John endured good-naturedly with tender patience and humor. He loved his younger sibling.

John came from a family with a long military tradition. His father, Paul, was now attached to the US embassy in Ankara as a military liaison. And his grandfather and great-grandfather were both army men. As his mind wandered, he looked out the window as the plane circled for its final approach. He observed a predominantly gray and brown landscape with very few green spots. From the air, Ankara did not look like a particularly interesting place—no visible rivers or lakes and no remarkable landmarks.

He wasn’t expecting much in terms of scenery. Still, the apparent dryness of the environment was a bit surprising. In preparation for this voyage, he had tried to read all the information he could get on the rich history of the country. He had started from the time of the Hittites, the Greeks, the Romans, and, finally, the Ottomans invading from Asia, whose descendants were highly mixed with other local ethnicities, dominating the place until today. He could imagine the starkness of the area as a cradle for fierce warriors, able to conquer empires and expand their dominion over huge portions of their world.

Did you rest, John? Were you able to sleep a little?

John was brought back from his wandering thoughts by the sleepy voice of his sister. She awakened with the plane’s descent, the announcements to fasten seat belts, and the preparations for landing.

Yes, Abby, I rested some, he said, stretching his arms.

I’m excited to see Mom and Dad again. It has been—what?—a year since they left?

Just short of one year. I’m also eager to see them again. For me, it has been longer, John answered. You realize that I was serving in Fort Benning, Georgia, when they left for Turkey. It’s been more like eighteen months since I last set eyes on them. I wonder if I’ll notice any changes. Living here is so different from home. I hope they are enjoying the experience.

I’m sure they are. Remember, Dad has lived in many foreign places, sometimes under difficult conditions. This isn’t new for him. He’s an army officer, after all.

True, but for Mother, this is totally new. She has never resided abroad. Besides, they are not getting any younger.

A stewardess asked them to adjust the back of their seats.

Well, here we go, said John, storing his blanket under the seat.

We’ll discover how they are, presently.

They had just entered the line to check their passports when they spotted their father coming in their direction, accompanied by a shorter, dark-haired man.

Abby, John, I’m so glad to see you both, Paul Davenport said, hugging his children. He kissed Abby and held his son, both hands on his shoulders, at arm’s length. Jesus, John! Did you grow an inch more since I last saw you?

Both father and son stood at the same height. At six foot three, they were tall, lean men.

No, sir, John smiled. It’s the exercise they put you through. It makes you stand straighter.

I forgot. You underwent jump-school training at Benning and are now a paratroop officer. I’m proud of you, son. How’s your new posting at Fort Bragg? Are you enjoying your unit? I know your regiment’s commander, Colonel Thomas Paddington. We both served in Nam. He’s a fine officer and a decent man.

He is, sir. Colonel Paddington mentioned that he knew you, and I like being a paratrooper very much. It has been a wonderful experience.

Eh, are you two going to keep talking this military nonsense and forget that I’m here? Abby complained with mock annoyance.

Never, Paul said, releasing his son to hug Abby. How could I forget the treasure of my life?

Where is Mom, and how did you get in here, Dad? Abby asked. We haven’t gone through immigration yet.

Mother is anxiously waiting for the two of you outside. As to how I am here, it is both a diplomatic prerogative and the courtesy of inspector Tefik Ütine, Paul said, turning to the inspector who had stood slightly apart during the exchange. Inspector, may I introduce to you my children—my daughter, Abigail, and my son, John.

It’s a great pleasure to meet you both. Tefik extended his hand to shake theirs. Please, give me your passports. I’ll take care of having them properly stamped and cleared of immigration procedures. Will you please follow me?

Tefik left the Davenports in a small waiting room. He returned a few minutes later to give back their passports and take them to collect their baggage. They passed customs and, after thanking him for his help, were outside in the arrival area. There, they finally met their eagerly waiting mother, Barbara Davenport.

Oh, honey, I’m so glad to see you. You look so pretty. You must tell me everything that happened since I left you. Boyfriends—you must tell me everything, Barbara said, embracing her daughter.

Ah, Mom, there is really nothing new. Nothing serious, at least.

Come on, I’m sure there are thousands of things we must talk about. And you, John, Barbara said, turning to her son, You are so handsome. I fear we’ll lose you very soon to some pretty, clever girl.

John smiled. Not to worry. As Abby said, there’s nothing serious going on.

Come, Colonel Davenport interrupted them. Let’s get clear of this airport. I borrowed an embassy car. The driver is waiting outside, probably illegally parked.

They then pushed their baggage cart to the curb, and Paul left them to go look for the car and driver. A few moments later, a black American-made car stopped in front of them, and Paul stepped out.

Here we are. This is our car. I’m afraid we’ll have to squeeze ourselves a bit, to fit in. Let’s put your luggage in and get going. I want to get you home, settled, and then decide what to do with the rest of the day.

They must be tired, Paul. They will probably want to rest before going out again, Barbara intervened.

Nonsense. They are young, and their time here is limited. There are so many things to see. We must plan how to maximize their stay with us. And we should take a few days off and drive to Cappadocia. Perhaps we could travel as far as Pamukkale and Ephesus.

I’m certain that they’ll appreciate seeing all that. For now, I’m just glad to have my children back. Anyway, we have to go to Istanbul for the Republic Day Ball, remember?

What’s that? John asked.

Turkey commemorates the proclamation of the republic, which took place in 1923. It happens every October 29. It’s a big national event. The holiday and festivities start on the eve, October 28. The government stages a gala ball in the Dolmabahçe Palace by the Bosphorus. They invite politicians, the diplomatic corps, and leading persons in society. Your father and I have been invited, and we managed to have you included.

I suppose you didn’t bring your tux, John. We’ll have to rent one. And your mother can probably fix Abby with one of her long dresses.

Never in your life! Can’t you see Mom has a totally different body from mine? Her dress would never fit me properly.

Fine, Abby. No fuss. We’ll buy something new. You can wear it after you go back to the States.

Great, said Abby, pacified by having avoided the prospect of wearing something from her mother’s closet.

Is the house very far from the airport? John asked.

No, we’re roughly nineteen miles from home. It shouldn’t take more than forty minutes to get there, depending on the traffic, his father answered. Ankara is a relatively large city, with over 4.5 million inhabitants. Sometimes traffic can be very bad.

As they approached the city’s busiest area, John noticed parks and an abundance of green that could not be seen from the air. The car then reached a hilly area of the city, with nice houses and many trees. He was told the neighborhood was called Çankaya; it was in the southern part of the city, and the president’s residence was located here.

Then, finally, the car stopped in front of a two-story house with a small garden in front. It was somewhat smaller than other similar homes. It was white, with a ceramic tile roof and two large front windows with dark blue frames.

Well, here we are, Barbara said. This is our home, kids. Abby will stay in the guest room. And we accommodated you in Paul’s office, John. You’ll sleep on a convertible sofa. Is that OK?

It’s more than fine. Compared to the places I’ve had to bunk in lately, I’m sure it will feel luxurious.

Abby, you will have to share a bathroom with your brother, I’m afraid.

Great. I hope the army has taught you to be more organized, John.

I’m organized enough, dear sister. You, on the other hand—please refrain from using my shaving kit and from leaving your intimate pieces drying everywhere in the bathroom.

OK, kids, if you are through with the bickering, let’s go inside and get settled, shall we? You sound like young children, Barbara said, smiling.

Paul and John each took a suitcase and followed the women in. The house wasn’t big but was more than adequate for Paul and Barbara. They were greeted in the living room by a middle-aged, slightly plump lady.

This is Belma, Barbara said. She helps us with the household chores and has been our savior here in Turkey.

Good morning, Belma said in heavily accented English. It’s a pleasure to make the acquaintance of the young Davenports.

I asked Belma to fix us a brunch. They do not usually feed people well in the coach class.

Good. I’m starving, John answered.

You certainly look like you need it. You seem to have lost some weight since we last saw you, Paul mentioned. I have to go back to the embassy this afternoon. We can meet later and have dinner, the four of us.

You are upstairs next to us, Abby. Paul, help bring her bag up, please. You are on this floor, John. Come, I’ll show you, their mother said.

John went through the living to a side room used as his father’s home office. The small space was occupied primarily by an already-prepared convertible sofa bed with sheets and pillows.

This is fine.

I made some space for you in our bedroom closet, John. I know this is not convenient, but it’s the best we have to accommodate both of you. It’ll be just for a few days, anyway. We plan to visit Cappadocia, and then there is the event in Istanbul.

Don’t fret, Mom. I’ll be fine.

Well, I will give you some time to unpack, and then let’s go eat. You can rest for a while after eating. I want to go out shopping with both of you. Let’s get the clothing issue out of the way. I must find Abby a dress to wear at the ball, and you have to rent a tuxedo.

Are we going shopping nearby?

No, there aren’t many alternatives in this area. We’ll have to go to Kavaklidere, a neighborhood with a larger choice of shops and malls. It’s near the embassy. We’ll either catch a ride with your father or call a cab.

In that case, I really think I’d like to eat something and rest a bit before we go out.

Let’s do that, John. Shall we see what Belma has prepared for us? Then you can lie down for a while. I’ll call you later when we’re ready to leave.

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CHAPTER 2

Dresses

John felt as if they had walked for hours, with brief yet boring interruptions that allowed Abby to try an unending selection of dresses, none of which she had approved.

His problem had been a lot easier to solve. After a few inquiries, his mother had located a shop specializing in renting formal apparel. They offered him a tuxedo, but it required extending sleeves and hems and fitting the jacket to his slim shape. They assured him that after the garment was properly cleaned and pressed, it would be quite satisfactory. The same shop was able to sell the required accoutrements, such as shirt, bow tie, and sash. They promised to deliver everything to the Davenports’ home in two days.

They now continued the grueling process of finding Abby the proper dress in still another shop with similarly unsatisfactory results. He did not pay attention to the two ladies who entered from the street and turned only when his mother greeted them.

Madame Sintesi, what a pleasure to see you! Barbara exclaimed. Let me introduce you to my children—my daughter, Abigail, and my son, John—just arrived from the States. They’re visiting for a fortnight. It’s their first time in your beautiful country.

How nice to find you here, Mrs. Davenport. I believe you have met my daughter, Arya.

Well, sure. Nice seeing you too, Arya.

John paid scant notice to the exchange, momentarily appreciating the girl with the unusual name, Arya. Tall, slim, black hair to her shoulders, slightly slanted eyes of an incredible amber color, a mouth with beautifully formed lips—she gave an impression of haughty sophistication. Dressed in a dark floral-pattern skirt, a tan blouse, and high-heeled sandals, she was something to look at.

John! His mother’s voice brought him back into reality. He had become engrossed in observing the gorgeously exotic girl and temporarily lost touch with things around him. The realization made him almost blush, and Abby’s derisive snicker did nothing to help the situation.

Aren’t you going to answer Mrs. Sintesi’s greeting?

I’m terribly sorry, ma’am. I—

Don’t worry, young man, the lady told him graciously, extending her hand and smiling. You were pensive. Meet my daughter, Arya.

I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, John. The cause of his distraction and embarrassment offered her hand, looking him firmly in the eyes, almost in challenge.

This time, he couldn’t quite suppress blushing and had to clear his throat in order to avoid stammering. As am I, miss—Arya, is it?

Please call me Alice. My parents insisted on giving me a Kurdish name. They are very proud of their heritage. Most people find the name unusual. With my friends, I prefer to be called Alice.

Alice, then, it is, John said, holding her hand a few seconds longer then dictated by common politeness. She smiled clearly enjoying the effect she was causing.

We have been trying to find a proper dress for Abigail to wear for the Republic Day Ball in Istanbul. It has proven a difficult task, Barbara said.

Ah, there, I think I can help. I know just the place, a boutique owned by two friends, Mrs. Sintesi said. They have a very refined taste and are always traveling to Paris and Milan to get the latest in fashion. I’m sure you’ll find something to suit your daughter. I’d be glad to take you to their place after we finish here.

That is very kind of you, I hate to be a bother.

"Nonsense. It’s no bother at all. Afterward, we could all go have tea. I think Abigail and John might enjoy that. Have they had the chance to taste our çay?"

No, they haven’t. Excellent idea. Let’s do that as soon as we both finish our shopping. We didn’t see any nice dresses for Abby in this shop.

They did find a dress for Abby in the place suggested by Mrs. Sintesi, which set Paul back twelve hundred dollars in Turkish currency equivalent—a bargain, according to Barbara and Abby. Not that their father couldn’t afford it. The US Army didn’t pay its officers so well, although there are clear financial advantages when serving abroad. The Davenports, however, had family money—not an awful lot but the sufficient to leave them well off. The fact that Barbara’s father, John and Abby’s grandfather, was a seriously rich man did also help. In fact, Barbara’s father did not initially consider Paul as a suitable husband for his precious daughter. A self-made man, he had big ambitions for his only daughter, but once she fell in love, there was nothing he could do to prevent the marriage, and he had graciously conceded.

Through the whole process of walking to the shop owned by Mrs. Sintesi’s friends, choosing dresses, and enduring the long process of trying them, John had remained painfully conscious of Arya’s, or Alice’s, presence. He had the distinct feeling of being assessed. Whenever he ventured a side glance at the girl, he was always met with a smile and a firm regard from those amber-colored eyes. It was frustrating, and he was beginning to think he should do something about it. Wasn’t this supposed to be a Muslim country, and weren’t women in such countries supposed to be modest and discreet? This girl was nothing of the sort—quite the opposite. Gosh! They wore burkas in other Muslim countries, although not in Turkey, he didn’t think.

Alice acted as a Western girl and a very forward one at that. She was undeniably beautiful with those long, shapely legs—when she crossed them, she let a little thigh show—and small, perfect feet in dainty sandals. He did not have a foot fetish, but somehow, he felt an urge to grab and kiss her feet, to get her sandals off and nibble at her toes. This was crazy. He was daydreaming in a bad way. He had to dispel these silly thoughts.

What? Abby asked.

I’m sorry. What is it? he answered.

You were shaking your head, John. Didn’t you like the dress?

Who, me? No, it’s not that at all. I did like the dress. You looked lovely in it. I think you should take it. Now he was overdoing it, and everyone was looking at him, including his mother, who seemed surprised. Excuse me. I was thinking of other matters. Perhaps I’m getting tired of shopping. I think I should leave you and go home.

We’re finished here, his mother said. Let’s accept Mrs. Sintesi’s gracious invitation to have tea.

Perfect. If you ladies promise to keep me out of any other dress shops for the next few days, I’ll be glad to keep you company.

Mrs. Sintesi had chosen a traditional teahouse decorated with seats and cushions of several sizes with intricate geometric patterns in bright colors, with red, white, and brown predominating. The shop was located along a pedestrian street in a neighborhood called Kizilay. They were placed around a round table, on which the waiter set a silver samovar and two ceramic teapots with filters. John learned that one was for the traditional black tea and the other was for the red tauşan bani, or rabbit blood. The tea was served in small, delicate clear-glass cups. Mrs. Sintesi did the honors, explaining things and serving the tea.

Arya sat next to John and started a conversation. So, John, what do you do in your country?

I’m a soldier like my dad.

Oh, I see.

You don’t like soldiers?

It’s not that. I’ve met quite a few decent fellows who are soldiers here in Turkey and in England. It’s the general idea—the armies and the violence—that doesn’t appeal to me. War is a terrible thing.

I’m sorry to hear that. I do not consider myself to be a violent person, and I also don’t like wars. I’ll be glad if I have never to fight one in my life. Unfortunately, they do happen, and someone has to fight them for the citizens of a society. It has always been like that, and it will always be.

You don’t seem a violent person, John. I don’t think that. In fact …

Yes?

Well, you are the first grownup man I have ever seen blush.

Jesus, I made a fool of myself.

Arya placed her hand briefly on his. It was like an electric shock. Unfortunately, she took it away as soon as she touched him. No, it was very endearing, and I am flattered.

Thank you. You mentioned London. Did you live there?

For a while. I went there to study. I have a degree in economics from the London School of Economics.

That’s fantastic, Alice. Do you work as economist presently?

No, I do not. I returned from England recently. I’m still deciding what to do as a career.

Shall we go, John? His mother’s voice interrupted their conversation. "Your father should be back from the embassy. He will be waiting for us to have dinner together later this evening.

I’m sorry; I have to leave, John said. I’m happy to have met you.

So am I, Alice answered. Perhaps we might see each other again at the Republic Day Ball?

I certainly hope so. I’ll look for you there, Alice.

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My little brother fell hard for the Turkish girl. Imagine that. Mother, Mrs. Sintesi, and I—and even the sales lady—noticed your interest, John. Not to mention the object of your emotions, who didn’t stop smiling at your pathetic efforts. Blushing, John? Really?

Stop being nasty to your brother, Abby. It’s not nice.

You must be criticizing me based on your vastly superior, grownup emotional experiences, aren’t you, Abby? You are wrong, sister. I was just being polite to the girl.

What do you mean by that? Were you thinking of politely fucking her?

Abigail! their mother exclaimed. I shall have no such language in this house. That is no way for a lady to express herself.

Ah, Mom, I’m sorry, but he was really making a fool of himself, and the silly bitch was so full of herself.

OK, enough, Abby. John, I hate to disappoint you, but I would suggest you refrain from developing any feelings for that girl.

Why?

First, the differences between you are enormous. We are Christians, and they are Muslims. Aside from that, their customs, habits, and values are so different from ours. It would never work.

I’m not so sure about that.

Most important, I hear she’s engaged to be married to a Turkish diplomat.

She didn’t tell me that.

See what I mean? Abby said. She was playing with him.

Abby, please. Let’s get ready. Your father will be home soon to take us out for dinner.

John wasn’t hungry at dinner. He couldn’t stop thinking about Arya. He was pissed off that she hadn’t leveled with him, that she hadn’t told him from the start that she was engaged to be married. Abby was right. Arya was having fun at his expense. Still, try as he might, he could not keep from seeing that face, those eyes. It was frustrating.

What is the matter, son? You look sad.

I’m only tired, Dad.

You practically didn’t eat. Didn’t you like the food?

The food was good.

John is heartbroken, Abby teased.

Abby! Barbara gave her a stern look.

OK. Will someone tell me what the problem is? Paul asked.

It is nothing, Paul. We met Mrs. Sintesi and her daughter this afternoon. She took us to the shop where we found Abby’s dress, and after that, we had tea together. Her daughter, Arya, is a very nice-looking girl. I think she flirted a bit with John. Naturally, Abby has been teasing him since.

Ah well, and how is Dila Sintesi these days?

That’s it. I couldn’t remember her name for the life of me. I kept calling her Mrs. Sintesi the whole time.

Dila, a very fine lady. Her husband Ejder is a good man and bright politician. He represents the Kurd minority in Congress—a tough job.

Why is that? John asked, his curiosity piqued.

The Kurd problem is a complicated one. There is a large population of Kurds spread over a contiguous area of four countries—Syria, Iran, Iraq, and Turkey. They are an ethnic minority in each of those countries, with their own history, traditions, and languages. Kurds have been fighting for years to establish their own country, sometimes with violence. They have had no success. No one wishes to relinquish part of his own territory in order to set a new nation.

But if this Mr. Sintesi is a Kurd, how can he be a representative in the Turkish Congress?

He’s a Turkish citizen. All Kurds living in Turkey are entitled to Turkish citizenship, but they are a minority group. Ejder Sintesi is a moderate politician. He defends integration with the acceptance of Kurdish traditions and recognition of their language, Kurmanji—the dialect widely spoken by Kurds settled in this country—as a second official Turkish idiom.

Sounds like he has a difficult task.

Indeed, he has. So, you were impressed with Arya, were you, John? I’m not surprised.

Why is that, Dad?

I know them well. The daughter is certainly a beautiful woman, very bright. She’s profited from a refined foreign education. She has a reputation, you know?

Really? What kind of reputation?

Nothing bad. It’s just that she’s very liberated and doesn’t act at all according to Turkish women stereotypes. She is very direct and free with what she says and thinks, and she is a firm defender of equal rights for men and women. Obviously, these are not popular notions in this country. I’ll bet she took you by surprise, John. You probably didn’t expect to meet an open and direct girl in a Muslim environment.

I must confess I was a little taken aback by her behavior. She seemed very direct, as you say.

She must be a year or two older than you, John. I believe she is close to twenty-six. And she’s engaged to be married to a diplomat. I’ve met him as well, Homer Barsani. He is also of Kurdish origin and seems to be going up in his profession. He is currently serving in Spain, I think.

Yeah, that sucks. She forgot to mention she had a fiancé.

Now that you are aware of that fact, I suggest you drop any notion of a closer acquaintance with that girl. It’s not practical. There is no gain to it. Besides, you can do better with girls back home.

You are right, Dad. I’ll just forget about Ms. Sintesi.

You should, John. There’s even a rumor that she works for MIT.

What is that?

MIT is the acronym for Milli Istihbarat Teşkilati, their equivalent to the CIA and FBI combined. They are a very efficient, tough service, internationally respected. If true, Arya may have an angel face, but below that you will find a core of steel. I fear you would be out of your league with her.

I don’t quite agree, Dad.

Oh, John, make no mistake. I do not say she’s tougher than you, but she’s certainly wiser. I think you need to live a few more years to match wits with the lady.

Anyway, Dad, it was just a flirt. What chances do I have of meeting her again? Let’s just drop this subject, shall we?

Good. I took ten days off from work so that we can travel to Cappadocia and Istanbul. Let’s retire early tonight. Tomorrow morning and for the next two days, we’ll start our visits to the places and sights of Ankara; then it’s Cappadocia.

During the following week, John could almost forget Arya. His father had devised such an intense sightseeing program that there was hardly any idle time to waste in useless divagation. Nevertheless, whenever he spotted a woman of the approximate height and figure and with black hair, Arya’s face immediately popped into his mind. And that frustrated him and made him angry with his juvenile infatuation. Perhaps his dad was right. He needed to mature a few more years.

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CHAPTER 3

Arya

She couldn’t forget the American. She had tried to distract herself by reading and doing some chores; she even began writing a letter to Homer, but the image of the American man kept coming back to disturb her. She shouldn’t have flirted with him. It was wrong to do that with the boy and unfair to Homer, whom she loved. Why had she done that? She had been flattered by the young man’s infatuation. At the beginning, she had been even a little cruel and returned his interest with a derisive look. She had almost snickered.

But he was very handsome. More than that, he was a beautiful man—tall, lean, wide shoulders, blue eyes, and light-brown hair, almost blond. He was quite different from Homer’s dark, classic good looks. At five foot ten, Homer was by no means short, but he definitely wasn’t tall. John gave the impression of having jumped out of a western movie, a typical American cowboy, with only the boots and the six-shooter missing. And when he started to blush, she was lost. She could have jumped into his arms right then and kissed him. To her greater shame, she didn’t have the courage to tell him she was engaged to be married. She had not acted correctly, and her mother had scolded her for that after they got home.

The Davenports knew her father and were aware that she was promised to Homer.