1921, November 12th, Saturday.
The third day of the Ottoman government's self-imposed one-week ultimatum to the Allied Powers dawned with a deceptive quiet over Constantinople. While the High Commissions maintained an official, stony silence regarding the Port Authority demands, Sultan Murad VII knew this was merely the calm surface of a deeply agitated sea. The true battles, he was increasingly aware, were being fought not just in diplomatic notes and anticipated confrontations, but in the shadowy alleys of espionage, the hidden ledgers of finance, and within the very walls of his own palace where loyalty and treachery often wore indistinguishable masks.
Murad's morning began not with grand strategy, but with a meticulous review of palace security protocols with Hafız Bey. The Lord Chamberlain, his ancient face a study in discretion, confirmed that vigilance had been heightened as per the Sultan's orders. "The known informants among the lower staff have been… reassigned to duties where their access to sensitive areas or conversations is nil, Your Majesty. And those more senior officials whose loyalty was questionable are under discreet but constant observation." "It is not enough to merely observe, Hafız Bey," Murad said, his gaze intense. "We must anticipate. We must know what the remnants of Damat Ferid's faction are plotting, and who amongst them might be actively colluding with those Allied elements who wish to see this government fail."
His concerns were validated when Kolağası Esad Bey, head of the Imperial Guard Intelligence Directorate, delivered his morning report. Esad, his youthful face perpetually serious, presented his findings with his usual quiet precision. "Your Imperial Majesty, Your Highness," he addressed Murad and Tevfik Pasha, "my operatives have confirmed that several individuals known for their unwavering loyalty to the former Grand Vizier, Damat Ferid Pasha, have been holding clandestine meetings over the past two nights. These include two recently dismissed müsteşars (undersecretaries) from key ministries, a retired general with a grievance, and, most troublingly, a mid-level dragoman from the French High Commission who is known for his… unofficial intelligence gathering." Tevfik Pasha frowned deeply. "A French dragoman? This suggests more than mere grumbling from dispossessed officials. This hints at active foreign encouragement of internal dissent." "Precisely, Your Highness," Esad affirmed. "The meetings have taken place in a private residence in Beyoğlu, belonging to a merchant with strong pre-war ties to French commercial interests and Damat Ferid's circle. While we do not yet have specifics of their discussions, the pattern suggests an attempt to coordinate opposition, perhaps to manufacture an incident that would discredit Your Majesty's government or provide a pretext for more aggressive Allied intervention." Murad's jaw tightened. "The shadows in the palace stretch far indeed. Esad Bey, I want these individuals under twenty-four-hour surveillance. I want to know who they speak to, what they plan. If there is any indication of an imminent act of sabotage, treason, or incitement to violence, I authorize you to make pre-emptive arrests. We will not wait for their plots to hatch. Tevfik Pasha, ensure the city prefect and Fevzi Pasha's garrison are quietly alerted to the possibility of needing to manage any… public disturbances these elements might try to foment." "It will be handled with utmost discretion and firmness, Your Majesty," Tevfik assured him. The fight for survival was clearly not just an external one.
This internal threat assessment cast a pall over the subsequent reports from other ministers. Cavit Bey, the energetic Minister of Finance, arrived looking unusually frustrated. "Your Majesty," he began, forgoing his usual detailed presentation of figures, "while the preparation of the full Port Authority dossier proceeds apace – it will be a damning indictment indeed – my efforts to implement immediate fiscal reforms are encountering… significant, well-orchestrated resistance." He explained that his attempts to audit the accounts of several wealthy local merchants and bankers, some of whom held foreign passports or enjoyed the protection of the Capitulations and were suspected of large-scale tax evasion and illegal currency speculation, were being stonewalled. "Their lawyers, Your Majesty, are masters of obfuscation and delay. They cite ancient capitulatory rights, question the authority of my ministry, and threaten to appeal to their respective Allied High Commissions if we press too hard. These are men who have grown rich while the Empire starved, often in collusion with corrupt officials from previous regimes. They represent a powerful internal bloc that benefits from the current chaos and resists any attempt to impose fiscal discipline or equitable taxation." "And they must be made to understand that their era of impunity is over, Cavit Bey," Murad stated firmly. "We cannot allow a privileged few, shielded by foreign influence, to undermine our efforts to save the state. Prepare a list of the most egregious offenders. I will issue an Imperial Decree, a Hatt-ı Hümayun, affirming your ministry's authority to investigate all financial dealings within Ottoman jurisdiction that impact the Imperial Treasury, regardless of the individual's status or foreign connections, where clear evidence of illegality exists. We will challenge the abuse of the Capitulations, not their legitimate intent. Let Reşid Akif Pasha be prepared to defend this stance vigorously to the Allied representatives if they choose to champion these tax evaders." Cavit Bey's eyes lit up. "A Hatt-ı Hümayun from Your Majesty would give us precisely the authority and moral backing we need to break this resistance. Thank you, Your Majesty."
Later, Ferik Fevzi Pasha, Minister of War, presented a plan that was both audacious and fraught with peril. "Your Majesty, Your Highness," he addressed Murad and Tevfik, spreading a crudely drawn map on the desk, "as you know, the intensified Allied surveillance has made conventional acquisition of arms for the Hassa Ordusu nearly impossible through established channels. However, Esad Bey's new directorate has brought me a whisper of an opportunity." His finger tapped a secluded cove on the Black Sea coast, some distance from Constantinople but still within a region where Ottoman gendarmerie presence was minimal and Allied patrols infrequent. "There is a small, independent arms trader, a Circassian by the name of Kaplan, who operates outside the major ports. He is known to deal in surplus weaponry from the recent Russian Civil War. He has reportedly acquired a significant cache of Mosin-Nagant rifles, Maxim machine guns, and ammunition, currently stored on a small, aging steamer anchored discreetly near this cove. He is willing to sell, for gold, no questions asked." Tevfik Pasha looked aghast. "Fevzi Pasha, this is piracy, or close to it! To deal with such a man… and what if the Allies get wind of it? A clandestine arms shipment, directly counter to all treaty provisions…" "It is a risk, Your Highness, a very great risk," Fevzi admitted, his face grim. "But our Hassa Ordusu cannot train with prayer beads. This Kaplan is motivated purely by profit, not politics. Esad Bey believes the transaction can be managed with extreme secrecy. A small, fast naval launch, crewed by handpicked, utterly loyal sailors from the almost defunct Imperial flotilla, could make the rendezvous at night. The arms would be landed at the cove and transported overland by a trusted detachment of my men to a hidden depot near the Hassa Ordusu's training camp in the Belgrade Forest." Murad listened intently, his mind racing through the potential benefits and catastrophic dangers. Rifles and machine guns were precisely what his new elite unit needed to become a credible force. But discovery would be a disaster, providing the Allies with the perfect pretext for intervention. "What is the price, Fevzi Pasha?" Murad asked. "Steep, Your Majesty. Ten thousand gold Lira for approximately five hundred rifles, twenty machine guns, and a substantial quantity of ammunition." Cavit Bey, who had joined the meeting, winced. "Ten thousand gold Lira… It is almost all of what we recovered from Kenan Pasha. But… for such a quantity of arms…" "It is a king's ransom, or a Sultan's gamble," Murad mused. He looked at Fevzi. "Can you guarantee the loyalty and discretion of every man involved in such an operation, from the sailors to the transport crew?" "I can select men who would die before they betray their oath to you, Your Majesty," Fevzi stated with conviction. "But the risk of accidental discovery, or betrayal by this Kaplan himself, can never be entirely eliminated." Murad paced his study for a long moment. The silence was broken only by the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner. "The ticking clock," he thought, "much like the one counting down our ultimatum to the Allies." He stopped. "Do it, Fevzi Pasha," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "The risk is enormous, but the need is greater. Plan it meticulously. Coordinate every detail with Esad Bey for intelligence support and counter-surveillance. Use the gold Cavit Bey has secured. But if there is even a hint that the operation is compromised before it begins, abort it immediately. No amount of weaponry is worth walking into an Allied trap." Fevzi Pasha's eyes shone with a grim light. "Understood, Your Majesty. We will proceed with the utmost caution and secrecy."
The rest of the day passed in a tense blur of routine governance overlaid with these high-stakes clandestine preparations. Reşid Akif Pasha reported that the Allied High Commissions remained officially silent, though Esad Bey's intelligence confirmed their internal flurry of activity and increasingly aggressive attempts to trace the Port Authority leak. The one-week deadline was now nearly half over. Murad found himself reviewing not just state papers, but also historical accounts of past Ottoman Sultans who had faced overwhelming odds – Mehmed the Conqueror before the walls of Constantinople, Selim the Grim against the Mamluks. They had not shied from audacious gambles. He prayed for news from the traveler carrying his message to Ankara, a message that seemed more critical with each passing day. As night fell, Murad felt the oppressive weight of the shadows in his palace. Enemies without, and now, clearly, enemies within, testing his resolve, probing for weakness. He was fortifying his foundations, stone by painstaking stone – a loyal intelligence service, a nascent elite military unit, a government committed to reform. But he knew that these foundations were being laid on ground that could erupt at any moment. The ticking clock of the Allied ultimatum was matched only by the ticking clock of his own desperate gamble for survival.