The Relative

Driven out of Turkish jurisdiction by recent military operations, the terrorist group ARKSU had retreated into neighboring regions, remaining a persistent threat to national security.

In the summer of 2026, the intelligence alliance known as The Five Eyes relayed information to Turkey. Based on field analysis, ARKSU had entered into conversations with Iranian anthropologist dissidents. ARKSU sympathizers had managed to establish a connection between the 2025 events in Istanbul, where a rogue agent from the elite German Bundesamt für Strategische Operationen (BSO) had assaulted an international delegation scheduled to participate in a joint expedition to the Russian Arctic known as the Severnaya Zemlya Expedition. The expedition later failed after suffering a threat that has not been fully disclosed by Moscow.

The Iranian anthropologists believed that the content of the German Coffers, entrusted to secrecy in Iran, months before the end of WWII, could be analyzed by scientists and possibly weaponized, giving an edge to whoever possessed it.

Using specially trained Large Language Models, The Five Eyes determined—within the context of Turkey’s national interests—that a professor from Freie Universität Berlin might have been in contact, in an edge case, with a tribe in Iran possibly related to the German WWII couriers.

Demir went to Berlin to find an Iranian historian who had studied, in his youth, “The Bawervan,” an ancient pre‑Islamic tribe that once existed in the Caspian Sea region. Professor Shakeri, now an academic in Berlin, and a native of Iran, had written an article about the interaction between this group and Europeans.

In his article, Professor Shakeri describes that in the XIV century, an emissary of Marco Polo, on his way back from the East, had saved the son of a powerful tribal leader. To protect him from his assailants, the emissary, and his group, escorted the leader’s son back to his territory, where they became their guest.

The emissary did not know that the robbers were, in fact, enemies of his hosts, and were fighting for control of the lower Caspian Sea region. In retaliation, the enemy tribe invaded the lower region of the Bawervan. When they attempted to reach a peace agreement, the enemy tribe was not interested in payment, but in the Europeans.

The Bawervan were men of honor, and they would defend their guest with their own lives. The battle lasted for days. In the end, the enemy retreated in defeat.

Professor Shakeri concluded, that the bond created by these events sealed a blood alliance between the Bawervan tribe and their newfound brothers. The article also noted that European visitors—particularly German explorers—visited the Bawervan on repeated occasions in the XV, XVI, and XIX centuries.

Armed with Shakeri's research, Demir tracked the lead back to the Kurdistan province of the Islamic Republic of Iran. As the Toyota FJ60, Callahan, ascended the dirt road along the mountainside, the Kurdish village of Dulab came into view. Just as Professor Shakeri had described in Berlin, it clung to the slope—houses crawling upward in a spiral that seemed to have no end.

The terrain around it was unforgiving: arid, dry, and silent. The vehicle moved slowly through narrow gravel streets. On one side, the mountains rose desolate and gray, their sparse vegetation clinging to life. Near the bottom, green trees appeared, contrasting sharply with the monumental rock, as if squeezing every drop of moisture from the earth.

On the opposite side of the road, houses made of pink mud and stones taken from the mountain stood close together, comforting one another in the immensity of solitude.

Through the front window, the village seemed to ask Demir — Where is everybody?

As the road curved, a gentle fork appeared. A white‑haired woman sat peacefully in the shade of a large tree. Demir stopped the car a few meters away, not wanting the dust to bathe her.

“Rojbaş dayê.”

“Xwedê ji te razî be, kurê min,” she replied.

“Where is everyone?”

“Working their gardens on the opposite mountain.”

“I’m looking for Aqilmendtir Baran. Would he be working in his garden?”

“No, Aqilmendtir is rarely here”— she said. “He spends most days at his mother’s farm in Rudbar, though he passed through last week.”

“Bad fortune.”

“You’re not from around here. Are you Armenian?”

“Yes. A distant relative.”

“Good pears in Armenia." Demir smiles politely. "Bring me some when you return. Are you going to see him in Rudbar?”

“I think I might.”

“Xwedê bi diya te re be.”

“Spas, dayê.”

As they said their goodbyes, the old woman covered her right eye with her right hand. Demir liked that.

Night had fallen by the time he reached the dense woodland outside Rudbar. He concealed the vehicle under cut branches a mile from the farmhouse. He darkened his face and moved stealthily through the dense forest toward the property.

He crouched in the low brush at the edge of the woods. The farm was dead quiet. "This isn't right," — Demir thought, noticing the cattle still grazing in the open field instead of secured in the barn.

He forced himself to wait, deciding to monitor the perimeter for an hour before moving in. Ten minutes later, a silent vibration against his chest startled him. His encrypted field phone was ringing. He tapped his earpiece.

“Say nothing,” a woman’s voice whispered in Kurdish. “The farm is compromised. They’re waiting for you, and Baran isn't there. They don't know your identity yet. Meet me tomorrow at noon at Keleshtar Waterfall.”

The line went dead.

Demir froze, holding his breath as the reality set in. Once his heart rate leveled, he switched off the receiver and melted back into the shadows. As he retreated toward his vehicle, his mind raced —"Ankara assured I’d be operating completely dark. Who was she? Where is Baran? And how did they know I was coming?"