Hello Ester (Early Evening, Day 3)

After being interrupted by the telephone, I was able to return to my writing. I truly am in the strangest situation with the men that have been sent to snoop on me. What they want to do before hauling me in is break me and break my spirit. That way, they will be able to mould me the way they like and turn me into whatever they want. I now realise that in underestimating the new regime's network of spies and informers, I have made one elementary mistake: I forgot that the essence of the state is continuity. The men who are on my trail are part of a centuries-old Ottoman policing tradition, the ways of the zaptiah, and they have inherited all its traits too – its cruelty, its cunning, its savagery and its guile.

But let me not keep you in suspense too long. This afternoon when I answered the phone, I heard a familiar voice say, ‘Mister Şehsuvar, a friend of yours is waiting for you in the Domed Lounge.’ I recognised the voice immediately – it belonged to Ömer, the young lad at reception.

‘You mean Mister Reşit?’ I asked, thinking he was referring to the manager.

‘Erm, no’, he said uneasily. ‘Another gentleman’.

‘Who? Did he give you a name?’

‘If you'll just hold on a second, I have written it down here somewhere. Ah yes, here it is. Captain… Captain Basri.’

The hairs on my neck stood on end. Captain Basri, just like Reşit's father Yusuf, had died fourteen years ago in Tripoli. That's right, in my arms, in an almost paradisiacal oasis in the middle of the desert… Somebody was clearly playing a nasty game but the question was who? Who else could it be but the men following me. Even if I went down, there was a chance that there would be nobody there. I was tempted to just stay put in my room and pretend the phone had never rung… But then I had a better idea.

‘Is he still there?’ I asked. ‘Because I have a favour to ask. Could you go and have a look for me and see if he is still there?’