Joseph Kanon - Istanbul Passage

By noon, standing at the window overlooking Taksim, he realized that no one was going to contact him, that he was alone. Nobody knew. Did his name even appear on any record, some payment voucher? Tommy spreading his bets over the table, the way he liked it. Using someone outside so he could distance himself, someone to blame if anything went wrong. But why should it? A job so routine it hadn’t required the usual precautions. Tommy hadn’t even asked where the safe house was, just the neighborhood.

Why not? But the answer was the same one he’d been getting all night, sitting up with it. The address didn’t matter. Alexei was never supposed to get there. He was supposed to die on the quay. And Leon? Would he have been left there, Tommy squealing away in his car, not sure if he’d been recognized? Impossible to risk that. Of course he’d have to be killed too. An easy target, not expecting it, just picking up a package. Two people left dead. Who’d killed each other? How would Tommy have arranged it? Dressed the scene? He thought of his face at the Park bar, pink, reminiscing. Already planning it. And that always led back to why and the other answer he circled around, the one he wasn’t ready to accept. He gripped the windowsill as if his body had caught the swirling in his head.

Meanwhile, he had to hand Alexei on to someone. Who? Tommy’s people at OWI were already gone. The plants at Robert College, whoever they were? But Tommy hadn’t used any of them; they didn’t know. Nobody had called. His operation now. He had to find the next link in the chain. There must be a name, maybe in Ankara, maybe lying around Tommy’s desk.

But when he got to the consulate he found it surrounded, small clusters of people drawn by the police cars in the street, patrolmen at the gate cadging cigarettes from the guards, the carved American eagle over the door staring down at them all. Not just a consulate matter anymore, a courier assignment. A crime. Police. Wanting answers. Tommy setting up his own man. Why would they believe it? Why would the Consul? The only story they’d hear was that he had killed Tommy. His word against a dead man’s. What proof did he have besides Alexei himself, who wasn’t here, not to the police.

He looked up, some movement at the door, the Consul shaking hands with a Turk in a bulky suit. Cigarettes doused, orders being given, a few policemen staying behind, everyone else moving toward the gate. They passed around Leon as if he were a stick in a stream. Nobody knew. Getting into cars, writing up reports, not one of them looking at him. He stood there for a minute feeling them all around him, unable to move, invisible. Nobody knew.

They had arranged to meet in the secondhand booksellers market, a narrow passage shaded by plane trees near the Beyazit Mosque. Mihai was waiting at an English-language stall near the end, flipping through a book.

“You’re late. Anything on the car?”

Leon shook his head. “Nothing. If anybody saw it, they’re not saying. No calls from the consulate, either. Nobody.”

“You said there was a plane arranged.”

“That was Tommy’s job.”

“Then now it’s yours. You have to get him out. He starts to panic- Where’d you park him?”

Leon said nothing.

“They’ll be checking the hotels. First thing they do.”

“He’s not there.” He picked up a book, the cover a blur.

“As long as he’s in Istanbul, we’re- A man who’d sell out anybody. Cheap. He says what’s good for him. Not us.”

“But we didn’t- I mean-”

“Which explanation do you think they’ll believe? Let’s say the real one, what we were doing there. Just for the sake of argument. Your new friend can vouch for it,” he said, his voice suddenly hard. “A wonderful history of telling the truth. And then what? Your ambassador intervenes? An embarrassment for him. But let’s say he does. A deal. No prison. They deport us instead. Resident permit? Revoked. If they believe us.” He looked away. “We don’t want to explain anything.”

“We won’t have to. I’m telling you, nobody knows. If I can get him to the consulate-”

“The consulate. It’s police now. With a body. Murder. The Emniyet have to have at least one pair of ears over there. At least. Take him in and the police-” He let the thought finish itself. “And the Russians. If they’re watching, you wouldn’t even get him to the gate. Maybe what he deserves, but not the best thing now, an incident. More police.”

“He has to talk to somebody eventually. Tell them.”

Mihai made a wry face. “His American confessor. Discretion guaranteed.” He lifted a finger from his book. “But not here. If he’s gone, the Turks have nothing to use against us.” He placed the book on the barrow. “Except each other.” He looked at Leon, quiet for a second. “What are you going to do if there’s no plane?”

“Tommy said there was.”

“He said a lot of things. I know someone at the airport. I can have him check the manifests. Not a scheduled plane, I suppose, not for this passenger. Military?”

Leon shrugged his shoulders.

“Wonderful. All right, I’ll check all of them.”

“Look, you don’t have to get involved in this. You weren’t there, remember?”

“If everyone says so. But will they?” He looked over. “I’ll let you know about the airport.”

“You think there is a plane, then.”

“Probably. Your Tommy was passing him along. He’d want his end covered. It’s just that Jianu wasn’t going to be on it. Thanks to you. Given that any thought?”

Leon met his glance. “All night.”

“It’s something to think about,” Mihai said, turning to go, then put his hand on Leon’s upper arm, a good-bye gesture. “How long have you known me?” he said quietly. “There’s blood here. Like blood. We have to look out for each other.” He squeezed the hand tighter. “Keep your head. Everything normal. Or they’ll smell it. It’s not just for us. You know what I’m doing here. What Anna did. These people, it’s the last hope. For them I’d even help a pig like Jianu.” He dropped his hand, still looking at him. “Since you want him alive. Your new American friend.”

He got on the tram at Beyazit, preoccupied. It’s something to think about. Shooting at Jianu, shooting at him. How long had Tommy been someone else? But how do you prove it? Make one thing lead to another, like the stations on the map over the door. Next to him two women in robes and headscarves were talking to each other, as cut off from the rest of the car as if they were still in the harem, the men barely noticing, staring out the windows, stubble and bushy moustaches. Not Europe. Outside, the old city jerked past. The Blue Mosque. The Hippodrome. Chariot races a thousand years ago. Old enough to have seen everything, Alexei’s Iron Guard a modern version of an old story, infants impaled, blood smeared over doorways, bodies flung into the Golden Horn, staining the water. Everything. Not what Anna had seen, clutching her guidebook. The Iznik tiles. The delicate carvings on the minbar . A city of wonders to her, not the other one, no longer surprised by anything.

At Topkapi, a group of sailors fresh off the seraglio tour crowded into the car, and Leon had to turn, facing the back. At first there were just the same anonymous faces, then he felt a prickling on his skin. Someone he knew. Head down, reading a Turkish newspaper, the same man who’d come out of Marina’s building. A coincidence? When had he got on-before Leon? with Leon? So good Leon hadn’t noticed. Still not looking up from his paper.