Alan Furst: Spies of the Balkans

“No, Zannis. Constantine Zannis.”

The man studied the paper. “Oh, of course, my mistake, you’re Zannis. Strathos is somebody else.” He turned to the officer, drew an envelope from the inside pocket of his jacket, slid out a letter typed in Turkish, and showed it to the officer. Who stood, saluted Zannis, and said, “Forgive me, Captain Zannis, but I didn’t realize…. You are not in uniform. The lady is with you?”

“She is.”

“Please,” he said, his hand extended, welcoming them to Turkey.

As the little man led them toward a dusty Renault, Zannis said, “Captain Zannis?”

“That’s right. You’re an officer in the British army. Didn’t you know?”

“I didn’t,” Zannis said.

“Oh well,” said the little man. “Always surprises, in this life.”

Once the suitcases had been put in the trunk and they were under way, the little man got around to introducing himself. “S. Kolb,” he said. “That’s what some people call me, though most don’t call me anything at all. And, unfortunately, there are those who call me terrible names, but I try, when that happens, to be elsewhere.”

Zannis translated for Demetria, sitting in the backseat. Then said to Kolb, “We’re going south, not to Istanbul.”

“We’re going to Smyrna, I mean, Izmir. I can never get used to that.”

He was a woeful driver, gripping the wheel as though he meant to choke it, squinting through the cloudy window, slow as a snail and impervious to the horns honking behind him. After battling his way around a gentle curve, he said, “You’ll work there, in Smyrna-ah, Izmir. Though I think they meant for you to be in Alexandria, to begin with. Meetings, you know, with the big brass.”

“We couldn’t get to Alexandria, a bomb hit the ship at the dock.” Zannis wondered, briefly, how Kolb knew he’d come to Edirne by rail, then recalled Sami Pal, sitting in the lobby of the Lux Palace.

“The Bakir?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm, too bad, I liked the old Bakir . Anyhow, a lot of Greeks are coming out of the country, and a few of them we’ll send back. Resistance operations, spy missions, the usual, into occupied Greece. And we want you to run the Smyrna part of that-it’s an important job. Ever been there?”

“I haven’t.”

“Well, there’s a big British expatriate community, and you’ll find a way to get along with the Turks, no?”

“Of course,” Zannis said.

“You’ll have to sign a few papers, but there’s time for that.”

Zannis turned halfway around in the seat, hung his arm over the back, and told Demetria what Kolb had said. “Smyrna, of all places,” was her only response, though she took his hand for a moment. A small gesture, for a couple who had indulged themselves in every possible intimacy, but it meant something, that late afternoon in Turkey, we’re safe for the moment, safe from a brutal world, and together , something like that.

On 27 April, 1941, Wehrmacht forces occupied Athens and, at 8:35 that morning, German motorcycle troops appeared at the Acropolis and raised the swastika flag. Some weeks later, at the end of May, two Athenian teenagers slipped past German sentries and took it down.

From the Tulsa Star-Tribune , 5 June, 1942:

A new bookstore is coming to town. Two of our newer residents, the sisters Hedy and Frieda Rosenblum, will be opening The Bookmark tomorrow at 46 S. Cheyenne Ave. next to Corky’s Downtown Cafe. The Rosenblum sisters, who’ve been working at the library, were brought to town under the sponsorship of Dr. Harry Gutmann, a local dentist, from New York City. Before that, they managed to escape from Hitler’s Nazis and are writing a book about their experiences. The Bookmark will carry all the latest bestsellers and will have a special section for children’s books.