1921, November 15th, Tuesday.
The sixth day of the Ottoman ultimatum to the Allied Powers dawned over Constantinople, heavy and pregnant with an almost suffocating tension. Tomorrow evening, the deadline for the High Commissioners to propose satisfactory reforms for the Port Authority would expire. Sultan Murad VII and his government had spent the preceding days in a whirlwind of activity – fortifying their internal security, launching domestic reforms, and preparing for the inevitable confrontation. Now, at the eleventh hour, all that remained was to hold their nerve and brace for impact.
Murad began his day with a meeting with Tevfik Pasha, his Grand Vizier. The old statesman, though visibly aged by the strain, exuded a calm resolve that Murad found steadying. "One day remains, Your Highness," Murad stated, his voice quiet but firm. "All our preparations are as complete as we can make them. Today, we watch, we wait, and we ensure our own house is in perfect order for whatever tomorrow may bring." "Indeed, Your Majesty," Tevfik replied. "Reşid Akif Pasha reports a continued official silence from the Allied High Commissions. It is a war of nerves. They expect us to break." "They will be disappointed," Murad said.
The first test of the new government's strengthened domestic authority came via Cavit Bey, the Minister of Finance. He arrived at the palace mid-morning, his usual sharp features set in an expression of grim satisfaction. "Your Imperial Majesty, Your Highness," Cavit reported, "yesterday, armed with your Hatt-ı Hümayun, my auditors presented a formal demand for full tax compliance and access to records to Lazaros Effendi, the Galata textile magnate who has evaded his obligations for years under the guise of Belgian 'protection'." "And his reaction?" Murad inquired. "Predictably, outrage and threats to appeal to the Belgian Legation and the Allied High Commissioners," Cavit said with a thin smile. "He blustered about 'unprecedented harassment' and 'violation of Capitulatory rights.' My auditors, however, stood firm, presented him with a copy of your Imperial Decree, and informed him that failure to comply within twenty-four hours would result in the sealing of his warehouses and the initiation of legal proceedings for tax fraud under Ottoman law, with all due process." Cavit paused for effect. "This morning, Your Majesty, a very contrite Lazaros Effendi's chief accountant appeared at the Ministry of Finance with an offer to pay a substantial portion of his assessed back taxes immediately, and to open all his books for… 'clarification.' It seems the prospect of his assets being seized by Ottoman authorities was more persuasive than his hopes of Allied intervention on behalf of blatant tax evasion." A rare smile touched Murad's lips. "A victory, Cavit Bey, however small in the grand scheme of our finances. It sends a clear message: the days of privileged impunity are ending. Ensure this Lazaros Effendi pays every Lira he owes, with interest. And let this success embolden you with the other… recalcitrant grandees." "It will, Your Majesty. It already has," Cavit affirmed, his eyes gleaming.
Later that morning, Reşid Akif Pasha, the Foreign Minister, sought an audience. He had just returned from a tense but crucial meeting with the French High Commissioner, General Pellé. "Your Majesty," Reşid Akif began, "I delivered our formal, though discreet, protest to General Pellé regarding the subversive activities of his dragoman, Monsieur Dubois, based on the corroborated testimony from Mahmud Bey's interrogation." "And General Pellé's reaction?" Murad asked, leaning forward. "Initially, a vehement denial and feigned outrage at such an 'unfounded accusation' against a member of his staff," Reşid Akif recounted. "However, when I presented him with specific details – dates of meetings, names of Mahmud Bey's associates, even paraphrased quotes of Dubois's advice on fomenting unrest, all carefully extracted by Esad Bey's men – General Pellé's demeanor changed significantly." The Foreign Minister continued, "He became… considerably more subdued. He stated that if, hypothetically, any member of his staff had 'overstepped their diplomatic mandate in such an egregious manner,' it would be a matter of the utmost internal concern to the French High Commission, and that he would personally 'look into these serious allegations with great care.' He did not admit guilt, Your Majesty, but he also did not dismiss our evidence out of hand. He then, rather pointedly, changed the subject to the 'unfortunate tensions' regarding the Port Authority, expressing a personal hope that a 'mutually acceptable understanding' could still be reached before Wednesday evening's deadline, to avoid any 'unnecessary escalation that would benefit no one.'" Murad exchanged a look with Tevfik Pasha. "Interesting. Pellé is clearly concerned about the Dubois affair becoming a public embarrassment for France, perhaps even more so than the Port corruption itself, if French involvement in that is less direct than the British. He may be signaling a desire to de-escalate, or at least to separate France's position slightly from General Harington's anticipated hard line on the Port." "That was my assessment as well, Your Majesty," Reşid Akif agreed. "He seemed anxious to appear 'reasonable' once confronted with specific proof of his agent's misdeeds. It may give us a slight leverage point with him, or at least ensure he is less inclined to blindly support Harington if the British advocate for extreme measures against us tomorrow."
As the day wore on, the tension in Yıldız Palace became almost a physical entity. Ferik Fevzi Pasha and Kolağası Esad Bey provided their final security briefing to Murad and Tevfik Pasha. "All designated Hassa Ordusu detachments are now in position, Your Majesty," Fevzi reported. "They are supplementing the regular palace guard, securing the Sublime Porte, the Ministry of War, and other key installations. They are armed with the newly acquired Mosin-Nagant rifles and have Maxim gun emplacements covering critical approaches. Their orders are to defend their posts against any threat, internal or external, and to ensure the safety of Your Majesty and the government." Esad Bey added, "My intelligence directorate is on highest alert. All known Allied military installations are under discreet surveillance. My operatives are also monitoring Damat Ferid's known associates for any sign of last-minute troublemaking. The city is quiet, but it is an uneasy quiet. We have also confirmed that Arif Efendi and his family remain secure and undetected in their rural safe house. The Allied hunt for the Port Authority leak source continues with intensity, but so far, they seem to be focusing their internal investigation on current Port employees." "Good," Murad said. "Maintain utmost vigilance. Tomorrow, when the deadline expires, will be the most dangerous period."
Reşid Akif Pasha reported no further official communications from any of the Allied High Commissions. There were, however, a few informal, almost casual, encounters between junior Ottoman diplomats and their Allied counterparts at various neutral legation receptions or social clubs. "The gist, Your Majesty," Reşid Akif summarized, "is that the younger Allied staff seem to believe their superiors will offer some minor, face-saving adjustments to the Port Commission's oversight procedures, but nothing that cedes real control or acknowledges the scale of corruption we have alleged. They seem to think we will have to accept such tokenism." "They underestimate our resolve, then," Murad stated flatly.
That evening, Murad convened his core council for a final strategy session. Tevfik Pasha, Reşid Akif Pasha, Cavit Bey, Fevzi Pasha, and Esad Bey were all present. The atmosphere was somber, charged with the gravity of the moment. "Tomorrow evening," Murad began, his gaze sweeping over each man, "our ultimatum expires. We must be clear on our course of action. Reşid Akif Pasha, you will prepare to receive their formal response, whatever it may be, with dignity and composure. If it is unsatisfactory – meaning, if it does not concede to genuine, substantial reform of the Port Authority with full Ottoman partnership and a transparent audit of past accounts – you will deliver our final note, the one stating our intent to bring this matter to international attention." "The note is prepared, Your Majesty," Reşid Akif confirmed. "Cavit Bey," Murad continued, "your full dossier on the 'Ledger of Lies' must be ready for immediate dissemination. Esad Bey, your channels to the selected independent press contacts in Europe and to any sympathetic neutral diplomats must be primed and secure. If I give the order, that information must be released within hours." "All preparations are made, Your Majesty," both ministers affirmed. "Fevzi Pasha, Esad Bey," Murad addressed his military and intelligence chiefs, "from the moment our deadline expires, our security posture must be at its absolute peak. Any sign of Allied military movement against us, or any attempt at an internal coup, must be met with immediate, decisive force. Protect the ministers, protect the government buildings, protect the communication lines. And above all, ensure this palace is impregnable." "We will not fail you, Your Majesty," Fevzi Pasha vowed, his hand instinctively going to the hilt of his service pistol.
Murad looked at them, these men who had risked everything to stand with him. "We have done all we can to prepare. We have sought justice through reason and diplomacy. If they refuse, if they choose continued arrogance and exploitation, then we will show them that the Ottoman Empire, however weakened, however besieged, still possesses a voice that can speak truth to power, and a will that will not easily be broken." He rose. "Rest as you can tonight, gentlemen. Tomorrow, we face the storm." The meeting concluded. Each man departed with a heavy heart but a resolute spirit. Murad remained alone in his study, the city's lights twinkling below. It was the eleventh hour. He felt a profound sense of solitude, the loneliness of command at its most acute. He had set a course that could lead to triumph or to utter disaster. The only certainty was that there was no turning back. He thought of the traveler from Konya, still making his way to Ankara, a tiny, unknown variable in this immense equation of power and survival. Tomorrow, the dice would be cast.