MIDNIGHT
Atlas came to the mansion in the evening. He was not alone; he arrived with a two-man team, quietly, through the rear garden. Disabling the security system took them twelve minutes. They were professionals. Cold-blooded. Mert had waited long enough to let them in. The sitting room was dark. Mert had lit only the fireplace — for warmth, for light. When Atlas came through the door he stopped and took in the room. This was not what he had expected. An unexpected man's unexpected calm. The Collector and His Prize "Mert Gürsoy," said Atlas. His voice was clinical and cold — not the way a doctor speaks, but the way a collector identifies a piece he has been searching for. "Or Murat Arslan. Either fits, I think." "Either fits," said Mert. He was standing with his back to the fireplace. His f
- Writer
