Hunting in Istanbul, Part 1

Every last petty errand, he dumped on the law office.

"Northeast Istanbul—somewhere around here. Find me a mansion I can use as a base, or a warehouse. Something that works."

"Business registration, a corporate account, and a payment card. Get them opened."

With the work handed off, he drove out to a motel on the outskirts of Istanbul. The high-end hotels were worse, if anything—crawling with security cameras and the rest of the surveillance kit. For the business he meant to handle here, a place that caught fewer eyes was better. He intended to stay until the lawyer turned up a suitable property.

So he waited for evening.

When night fell, he left the Lincoln SUV behind and took the van back into the city.

One of the reasons he had crossed into Istanbul was simple. IS kept its Türkiye office here. Interrogating the trainers taken in southern Syria had turned up the fact that one of IS's bases sat in Istanbul, and Trainer No. 2, who had come along with him, knew the location. The man had agreed to guide him there himself.

"There are two methods. One is luring them through social media and leading them off. The other is sweet-talking travelers at tourist spots and kidnapping them."

The targets of recruitment and abduction were mainly young women. Willing or not, the women who were taken were sent to IS military bases and used as sex slaves.

Following Trainer No. 2's directions, he drove into the nightlife district.

"This is the area. Slow down a little."

Trainer No. 2, scanning the view beyond the window, pointed to a spot.

"There. That club. Last time we hooked travelers there too. The office keeps moving, so if we find them in there and tail them, we should be able to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠locate the headquarters."

"All right. The rest of you stay in the car. Trainer No. 2 and I are going in."

The car stopped. He put Trainer No. 2 in front and approached the club. Thumping music spilled all the way out to the street. They passed the bouncer at the entrance and went down underground.

The inside of the club was gaudy. Shrill electronic tones and beeps hammered endlessly at skin and heart.

Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom.

Unh-cha. Unh-cha. Unh-cha. Unh-cha.

Neon signs and glittering psychedelic lights lashed at the eyes. Dancers stood under spotlights here and there in bikinis, gripping poles and shaking their hips. Young men and women packed the floor, tangled together, dancing beneath a red-orange glow.

He went in, ordered a bottled beer, and slowly took in the room. Unlike him, scanning the floor at his leisure, Trainer No. 2 was desperate—eyes burning as he hunted for an IS operative.

Well. Of course.

He had been told that if they went back with nothing to show, he would be sold off as he was. If the man wanted to live, he had to produce some kind of result.

They must have waited a little over thirty minutes. No. 2, who had circled the club on his own, came back with a face full of relief.

"Boss. I found them."

Calling him Master where people could hear would look strange, so on Earth he had ordered the man to say Boss.

"Yeah? Where?"

"The second floor. I'll show you."

Guided by him, they climbed to the second floor—up a stair jammed with bodies, out onto the terrace above.

"Those two over there, with the three women."

Midway along the tables running beside the railing, a young man was wholly absorbed in talking to the women.

"Hearing Enhancement."

A moment later, the man's conversation entered his sharpened hearing.

"Come on, don't be like that. How about we go back to our place and have another drink?"

"Your place?"

"We booked it on Airbnb. The location's killer. You can see the ocean just like that. In the morning I'll make you pancakes while you look at it. What do you say?"

"Yeah. We're all heading back to our own countries tomorrow anyway. Can't spend the last night bored, right?"

A good-looking young man was sweet-talking the women with a line that sounded plausible enough. The women practically screamed tourist—women dreaming of a little transgression on the road. Empty-headed, they hesitated a moment, then nodded.

"Shall we?"

A few more words passed between them, and they hurriedly started clearing the table where they had been drinking.

Watching them wrap up, he moved toward the table before it was too late, then pretended to stumble ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and slammed his body into one of them.

Thud.

A crash. Their bodies tangled and they went down, and the beer in his hand poured over the man.

"Fuck! What the hell are you doing!"

The man who had gone down in the tangle cursed and shoved him. Getting to his feet, he shot back.

"Oh, for fuck's sake. I slip once and you lose your goddamn mind."

Unable to understand Korean, the man glared at him.

"This little shit's begging to die."

The air said fists were about to fly. But the other one held his friend back.

"Hey. Enough. Enough. Let's not make a scene for nothing."

Whether he caught the meaning or not, the man swallowed his disappointment and sneered.

"Hey, yellow monkey. Know how lucky you are? You got that?"

The one who had glared at him took the women and went down the stairs with his friend.

Only then did Trainer No. 2, who had been hiding at a distance, hurry over. He had been ordered to stay out of sight in case the men recognized him.

"Boss. Are you all right?"

"Yeah. Back to the car."

"Yes, Boss."

They left the club and returned to the car. Back in the van, he changed out of the wet shirt and drew the crystal orb from the magic pouch. When he had fallen on the second floor, he had planted a tracking sigil in the hem of the man's clothes.

Aphago addressed him.

"How terribly cumbersome. Among the Archmage's legacy, there are tracking items that can locate a target from hundreds of kilometers away merely by fixing them with one's eyes…"

"Don't pitch me. This is plenty."

At the refusal, Aphago only clicked its tongue. A hassle, yes—but for the next year, annoying or not, he would just have to endure it.

"Reveal."

With the word of activation, the crystal orb indicated the direction of the sigil. One side of it glowed red.

"East. Move."

The van ran for about an hour. The vehicle that had cut across Istanbul slipped, before he knew it, through narrow alleys and into the winding old city. After they entered a neighborhood that felt, at a glance, unmistakably lawless, they drove a good while longer. Where they arrived was in front of a shabby house standing alone. The lights were on, and every window was covered with curtains.

Trainer No. 2 explained.

"This should be the headquarters. Recruiters from all over Istanbul bring the people they've gathered here, hold them, and then move them in batches out to the edge of Türkiye or toward Syria. Sometimes, when they need money, they keep them locked up here and squeeze a ransom out of them."

"How many are inside?"

"Usually about ten. When they move recruits, it's generally twenty or thirty at a time, by truck or van."

"That so. Let's pass for now. We've got the location."

He drove about two kilometers out, parked, and slipped out alone. Walking slowly, he headed back toward the house.

"Invisibility. Levitation."

His body vanished from sight, rose, and flew straight for the house.

Standing on the roof, he used Hearing Enhancement.

Several voices came from inside.

"Move these bitches to that room. Keep them separate from the volunteers."

"Three of them? Not a bad haul."

"Please let us go. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Please. Please just let us go. We're begging you…"

"Save us. Please—"

"Crazy bitches. You were happy enough to follow us when it suited you."

"I said we'd let you go after we have some fun, didn't I? Huh? We told you. We play together, then we take you back."

"S-send us now. I have to call home right now…"

"Crazy bitches."

"Hey. This works out. Bring the volunteer recruits over. Let's do the initiation right here."

"Well, damn. These new recruits hit the jackpot. Initiation the second they walk in. I didn't get mine until six months after I joined—and that was with some old woman in Syria. Fuck. I'm jealous."

"If you're jealous, you go first and then hand her over."

"Maybe I will. Hey. You, black hair. Come over here."

"Huh? Wh-why? Why are you—aaah!"

"Fuck. I didn't even stick her with a knife. What's with all the screaming."

Laid over Trainer No. 2's intelligence, the situation inside sketched itself clearly enough.

"The people who gather at each branch come in three kinds. First, the male volunteers lured through social media from all over the world. Likewise, the women who come of their own accord, saying they want to help IS. And last, the men and women dragged in after being kidnapped."

"Volunteer or kidnapped, the women are mostly taken as sex slaves. The men who come in as recruits go through training and an initiation. The initiation is usually making them kill a kidnapped captive with their own hands—or making them rape the women."

The other world might run slavery out in the open, but this was not Gaia. A different standard was required, and he had no intention of standing by while garbage did what garbage does in front of his eyes. If he had no power, he would have hunkered down and slipped away quietly. But right now he had power, and he had money. No need to endure what offended his eye.

He came back down around the roof and found the power line running in from outside the house.

"Air Cutter."

A blade of wind sheared the line clean through. In an instant every light in the house went out at once. Even without an eavesdropping spell, the uproar inside reached him faintly. He used their confusion and slipped quietly into the house.