The docks near the Galata Bridge had changed little in the past decade. Imani stood at the edge, bundled in a long beige trench coat, her grey scarf wound tightly around her head and neck, only her eyes exposed to the crisp sea air. The Bosphorus glistened under the morning sun, deceptively calm, mirroring her internal turmoil.
She clutched her phone tightly, replaying the message in her mind. "Don't trust her. She's not who you think. Meet me where we used to fish." His voice was grainy, distorted. But unmistakably her father's.
Zara had insisted on coming, dressed head-to-toe in black athletic wear under an oversized trench coat that matched Imani's. Her braids were tucked neatly beneath a grey beanie, and she carried a small sling bag with her laptop, pepper spray, and a portable hotspot.
Idris stood a few meters away, dressed in fitted navy slacks, a forest green sweater, and a thick black peacoat. His eyes scanned every shadow, every pedestrian, every bird overhead. His right hand hovered near his side holster, under his coat. Just in case.
"It's 7:08," Zara said, checking her smartwatch. "You sure he meant here?"
"We used to fish just over that edge," Imani said softly, pointing to the farthest point of the pier. "He taught me how to thread bait there. We used stale sesame bread because I hated worms."
Idris' lips curled slightly. "A good man, your father."
"I thought I buried him, Idris," she murmured. "I grieved him. I folded his prayer mat every morning for three months after the funeral."
"Maybe he had no choice," Zara offered. "Faking your death to protect your family isn't exactly in the parenting handbook, but maybe it was the only way."
A boat engine roared in the distance.
They turned instinctively. A lone figure disembarked from a small fishing boat, his gait slow, measured. He wore a navy galabeya with a charcoal shawl draped around his shoulders. His beard was flecked with grey now, longer than she remembered.
He stopped ten feet from her.
"Imani."
Her legs moved before her brain caught up. The hug wasn't gentle; it was desperate. Arms flung around his neck, breath caught between sobs, hands clutching the back of his galabeya like it was a lifeline.
"Baba," she whispered.
He hugged her tightly, burying his face in her scarf. "You've grown fierce."
"Why?" she sobbed. "Why didn't you tell me? Why let me think you were dead?"
"Because I needed Kora to believe it too. They had eyes in the hospital. One misstep and you'd be gone."
He pulled back slightly, his eyes scanning hers. "I never stopped watching. You graduated. You took up your residency. You made dua for me every night."
Zara stood quietly behind, her eyes misty. Idris looked away, the sharpness in his gaze replaced by something softer. Guilt, maybe.
"You said I shouldn't trust her," Imani whispered. "Mum?"
His jaw tensed. "Not yet. There's more to her involvement than you know. She may not be Kora, but she helped create the machine."
"She sent Ali to die."
He looked stunned for a moment, then nodded grimly. "I know. I found out a few weeks ago. That's why I called you. The file from the USB is only half the story. The real data is in her possession."
"She never mentioned..."
"She wouldn't. Not until it was convenient."
Zara stepped forward. "So what now? We go back to her? We spy on her? What if she knows we know?"
Dr. Hussnain nodded toward Idris. "You brought him back. That was brave. You'll need his skills now more than ever. And Omar—"
"Wait," Imani interrupted. "Omar's working for me. Watching my investigator."
Hussnain raised an eyebrow. "A surveillance inception. Clever. Keep him close. He was once in Kora training before he defected."
Imani's eyes widened. "What?"
"It was brief. He couldn't go through with it. But he knows their systems."
Zara laughed dryly. "Of course. Everyone has a file these days."
"It's time we turned the tables," Hussnain said. "Your mother has the Project Canaan file. It's what ties Kora to every political murder in the last five years. Including those disguised as natural deaths."
"I thought the USB had everything."
"No. That was bait. To draw you in."
He handed Imani a slim key.
"This opens a safe in the Sultanahmet quarter. Third floor of an old madrasa library. Inside, you'll find tapes. Videos of the original Kora leadership meetings, all the way back to its founding. She was there."
Imani took the key with trembling fingers.
"And you? What will you do?"
"Disappear again. For now. Too many know my face. But I'll be nearby. When you need me."
Zara stepped forward and hugged him too. "You broke her heart, you know."
He nodded solemnly. "I broke mine too."
Idris offered his hand. Hussnain took it.
"Take care of her," he said.
"Always."
Imani watched him walk away. Back to his boat. Back to the shadows.
And then her phone buzzed again.
A message from an unknown number.
"We know he lives. The clock is ticking. Choose a side. —Dove"
Imani's hands went cold.
Zara leaned over to read it.
"She knows." They both chorused
Idris pulled his coat tighter. "We don't have much time."
Imani turned, her voice ice. "Then let's find out just how much she's hiding."
To be continued...