1921, November 18th, Friday.
The dawn of Friday, November eighteenth, broke over a Constantinople that felt like a city under a tightening siege. The overt display of Allied military power, initiated the previous day by a furious General Harington and his counterparts, had not abated. Steel-helmeted soldiers patrolled the main thoroughfares with fixed bayonets, their presence a constant, oppressive reminder of who held the true temporal authority. Checkpoints snarled the already chaotic traffic, and the air itself seemed thick with unspoken threats and anxious anticipation. For Sultan Murad VII and his embattled government, it was another day on the precipice, another day of holding their nerve while desperately awaiting any sign that their audacious gamble – the international dissemination of the "Ledger of Lies" – was beginning to bear fruit.
Murad received his morning briefing from Ferik Fevzi Pasha and Kolağası Esad Bey in an atmosphere of grim determination. "The Allied military posture remains aggressive, Your Majesty," Fevzi reported. "Their patrols are intrusive, clearly intended to intimidate both the populace and our own limited forces. There were several minor stand-offs overnight between our Hassa Ordusu detachments guarding key ministries and Allied patrols attempting to assert dominance. My men, under strictest orders, held their ground firmly but did not escalate. So far, no shots have been fired, but the tension is dangerously high." Esad Bey added, "Their intelligence services are also working with feverish intensity, Your Majesty. We have intercepted communications indicating they are now almost certain that a significant cache of documents related to the Port Authority has been compromised. They are exerting immense pressure on all remaining Port officials and have broadened their hunt for Arif Efendi, though he and his family remain secure for now. They are also, I believe, attempting to sow dissent within our own administrative ranks, offering 'incentives' for information about your government's plans." "Then we must continue to be vigilant internally and present an unbroken front externally," Murad stated, his jaw set. Today was Jumu'ah. His public attendance the previous Friday had been a significant morale booster. To shy away now, amidst this heightened intimidation, would send a signal of weakness. "Tevfik Pasha, Nuri Efendi," Murad addressed his Grand Vizier and Sheikh-ul-Islam who had joined the briefing, "I intend to attend the congregational prayer today. To do otherwise would be to succumb to their pressure. It is vital that the people see their Sultan-Caliph unafraid, placing his trust in Allah and standing with his community." Tevfik Pasha looked concerned. "Your Majesty, the risk is significantly higher today. Allied tempers are frayed. Any public gathering could be a flashpoint." Fevzi Pasha, however, spoke with a soldier's resolve. "If His Majesty wishes to attend, we will ensure his safety. The Hassa Ordusu will form a secure corridor. It will be a demonstration not just of your courage, Your Majesty, but of our recovered Ottoman martial spirit, however nascent." Nuri Efendi added, "Your presence among the faithful today, Your Majesty, especially now, will be a sermon in itself, more powerful than any words I could utter. It will speak of steadfastness, of sabr in the face of oppression. I will ensure the khutbah at the chosen mosque reinforces these themes of divine protection for the just and the ultimate futility of tyranny." It was decided. Murad would attend Jumu'ah at the Süleymaniye Mosque this time, another of the city's grand Imperial mosques, its towering minarets a symbol of Ottoman resilience.
The procession to Süleymaniye was an exercise in controlled defiance. Fevzi Pasha himself led the augmented security detail, his Hassa Ordusu soldiers forming a tight, disciplined cordon around Murad's carriage. Their new Mosin-Nagant rifles were held at the ready, their expressions stern and watchful. Allied patrols were numerous along the route, their officers observing with undisguised hostility, some even making a show of taking notes or aiming field glasses directly at the Sultan's carriage. But they did not interfere. The crowds lining the streets were noticeably thinner than the previous week, a testament to the atmosphere of fear. Yet, those who did turn out watched with a mixture of awe, anxiety, and a fierce, silent pride. They saw their young Sultan, barely a man, daring to move amongst them even as foreign guns sought to cow their city.
Inside the magnificent Süleymaniye Mosque, the Imam, clearly briefed by Nuri Efendi, delivered a powerful khutbah on the theme of Prophet Musa (Moses) confronting the Pharaoh – a story of divine support for the righteous against overwhelming temporal power, of truth against falsehood, of patience and ultimate vindication. The air in the mosque was electric, the prayers offered with a particular fervor. Murad, seated in the front, felt the hopes and fears of his people wash over him. He was their focal point, their symbol. He could not falter.
The return to Yıldız Palace was equally tense but uneventful. Murad had made his statement. He would not be confined. He would not be intimidated. The rest ofthe day, however, was consumed by the agonizing wait for news from abroad. Esad Bey's intelligence directorate was a hive of activity, its few trusted operatives monitoring every conceivable channel – coded telegraphic snippets from neutral embassies, rumors picked up by informants in the international trading houses of Galata, even carefully scanning the very few foreign newspapers that made their way into the city, days late, for any hint that the "Ledger of Lies" had begun to detonate. "Patience, Your Majesty," Tevfik Pasha counseled as he saw the strain on Murad's young face. "Such information, especially if it is as explosive as Cavit Bey believes, will take time for responsible journalists to verify and prepare for publication. They too will face pressures from their own governments, who will undoubtedly try to suppress it." Murad nodded, though the waiting was a torment. He knew Tevfik was right. He threw himself into other matters of state. He reviewed Cavit Bey's detailed plans for implementing the new financial audits based on the Hatt-ı Hümayun, authorizing him to create small, mobile teams of loyal accountants, protected by Fevzi Pasha's men if necessary, to descend upon businesses suspected of egregious tax evasion. He discussed with Nuri Efendi further ways to utilize the Ulema to promote national unity and counter defeatist propaganda.
The Allied High Commissions maintained their official silence throughout the day, a silence that felt more like a coiled spring than a resolution. Reşid Akif Pasha reported that his junior diplomats were encountering a wall of cold formality from their Allied counterparts. No threats, no accusations, just an icy correctness that suggested decisions had been made at higher levels, and they were merely awaiting the order to implement them. Esad Bey's operatives did, however, pick up on some disturbing local Allied actions. "Your Majesty," he reported late in the afternoon, "we have confirmed that the British military authorities have significantly restricted the movement of coal barges on the Bosphorus that supply government buildings, including the Sublime Porte and several ministries, citing 'new security protocols.' The French have similarly delayed permits for shipments of imported paper needed by the Imperial Printing Press. These are petty harassments, designed to disrupt the functioning of our government and signal their displeasure without resorting to overt, large-scale force… yet." "They are testing our resilience, our ability to function under duress," Murad observed grimly. "Cavit Bey, we must accelerate our plans for securing alternative fuel and supply sources, however limited."
As evening approached, the tension in Murad's study was almost unbearable. Every knock on the door made them start. Was it news from Europe? Was it a new ultimatum from the Allies? Then, just as dusk was gathering, Esad Bey entered, a single sheet of flimsy telegraph paper in his hand, his usually composed face alight with a suppressed excitement. "Your Imperial Majesty," he said, his voice carefully controlled, "a coded message, relayed through a trusted contact in the Swedish Legation, originating from their embassy in Paris. It is brief, heavily censored by the French telegraph authorities, but…" He paused, drawing a breath. "It states: 'Certain Parisian evening papers are discussing… 'significant financial irregularities'… in Constantinople Port administration… involving unnamed foreign officials… Questions anticipated in French National Assembly tomorrow by socialist deputies… Further details suppressed by censor.'" A collective gasp went through the room. Murad, Tevfik, Cavit, Reşid Akif – all leaned forward, their eyes fixed on Esad. "It is not yet the explosion we hoped for, Your Majesty," Esad cautioned. "It is a whisper, a heavily censored fragment. But… it is the first echo from afar. The story is beginning to break, at least in one capital." Murad felt a jolt, a surge of adrenaline mixed with profound relief and trepidation. The first stone had landed. The ripples were starting to spread. "This is it, gentlemen," Murad said, his voice hoarse with emotion. "Our truth is beginning to see the light of day. The Allied attempt to maintain a conspiracy of silence around their corruption is starting to crack." He knew this was far from over. The full force of the international scandal was yet to unfold. The reaction of the Allied governments, when the story truly gained traction, would be immense. But tonight, for the first time since he had unleashed the "Ledger of Lies," Murad felt a sliver of genuine hope. The echoes from afar, however faint, signaled that his desperate gamble might yet pay off. The world was beginning to listen.