Joseph Kanon - Istanbul Passage

“Get in,” Altan said, nodding to the rope.

“When it leaves,” Alexei said, still making his improbable bargain.

The ship had begun to slide away, its wake lifting the smaller boats.

He turned to Leon. “It’s all right?”

Leon looked at him, a wordless thank-you, more, trying to see behind his eyes again.

“Always something for the Jews with you,” Alexei said, trying to be wry, closing the shutter, but his voice trailed off, his eyes drooping.

Leon shook him, wetting Alexei’s face to see the eyes open again, someone trying to nap, then paddled with one arm to Altan’s life preserver. A long pole with a hook snagged the ring and started pulling them. Then there were hands lifting them up, Alexei not letting go of Leon until he was pried away, both of them wrapped in blankets. It was only then, with the first hint of warmth, that Leon started shivering.

“He’s bleeding. They shot him.”

“I can see that,” Altan said, motioning for one of his men to look at the wound. He shouted something to Gülün who then ordered the police boat to pull away. “He’s disappointed,” Altan said to Leon. “Such good work too.” Gülün, sullen, was saluting.

Behind the police boat, the Victorei was becoming a string of lights on the Marmara. Tommy’s money and the butcher’s price, whatever it took. Leon pulled the blanket tighter.

“He’s out,” one of Altan’s men said, holding Alexei.

“He lost a lot of blood,” Leon said.

“So did Enver,” Altan said smoothly, looking at him. He turned to the driver. “Let’s get going.”

The boat recoiled, a shotgun effect, as the engine kicked in, throwing everyone against the sides. It swung around, heading back for the Bosphorus. Polished wood, a rich man’s boat.

“What are you doing here?” Leon said, his head getting fuzzy. “Gülün-”

“You prefer his boat?”

“He works for you.”

Altan shrugged. “In a way. But he doesn’t always know what to do.”

“No?” Leon said, making a sound, too tired to talk, then noticed the driver, a familiar face above a serving tray. “Lily’s boat,” he said finally.

“A courtesy.”

“Gülün found us.”

“No, I told him. A good idea, by the way. Clever. A ship of Jews.”

“I bribed them. They had nothing to do-” Leon started, but Altan waved this off.

“How far were you going?”

“Cyprus,” Leon said, voice flat.

Altan tilted his head slightly, calculating, then nodded. “I never thought of that,” he said, an appreciation.

“But you knew about the ship,” Leon said slowly, trying to think, what mattered.

“Not until the end.”

“How?” Leon said dully. “How did you-?” Wanting to know, then dreading it.

“The fisherman,” Altan said. “I paid him. More.”

A second to react, then Leon started to smile. An Istanbul answer, not Kay, not Mihai, complicated betrayals, just a market price.

“He’s still out,” the man with Alexei said.

“Radio ahead to have a doctor at Lily’s.”

“We’re going to Lily’s?” Leon said, confused.

“Would you rather the police?”

“Why Lily’s?”

“So we can talk.”

“Talk,” Leon said, his voice distant.

“Make plans.”

Leon tried to get hold of this, then let it go. “What you said before, about Enver. He was-?”

“I hope that wasn’t you. He had a family.”

Leon said nothing.

“No, it would have to be him,” Altan said, looking at Alexei, slumped under his blanket. “Don’t forget what kind of man he is.”

Leon looked up, not understanding.

“Then it’s easier.”

“What?”

“What the Americans want.”

“The Americans,” Leon repeated, his mind wispy, fogging up, like the faint drizzle around them.

Altan nodded.

“Oh,” Leon said, with a faint snort. “You’re working for us now.”

“I work for Turkey,” Altan said, his voice quick, some nerve touched. “Only Turkey.” He relaxed his shoulders. “But right now I’m in a position to-offer a favor. To friends.”

“What favor?” Shuddering again, the wind colder.

Altan opened his hand toward Alexei.

“You’re giving him to us?”

Altan caught Leon’s expression. “I know. So much work. So clever. You surprised me. But it’s just as well,” he said, his hand now taking in the absent Victorei , the night. “The Americans don’t want him in Cyprus. They want him in Istanbul.”

Leon tried to follow, a riddle he couldn’t solve now, but drifted into the pocket of warmth under the blanket, the boat thudding against the waves, making spray, not resisting the pull anymore, going under.

HE AWOKE WITH SUN in his face, the soft rustling of slippers in the hall, quiet as brushstrokes. Anna’s room, some other hospital. But the comforter over him was satin and the light against the far wall glowed in colors, streaming through bits of stained glass. Lily’s, one of the rooms in the old selamlik , the smell of coffee brewing. A shape near the door moved, becoming a woman.

“I’ll tell Madame,” she said, out the door before Leon could answer.

He sat up, the comforter sliding off his bare skin, so that he had to catch it, hold it to his chest. He noticed a brazier in the corner, bright with coals. He moved his toes, a test, recovered from the icy water.

“I thought you’d sleep longer,” Lily said, followed by a woman carrying a pile of clothes. “All dry. Such a time getting off the wet ones. How do you feel?”

“Where’s Alexei?”

“The Romanian? Eating breakfast. Well, lunch, this hour. Already making eyes at Ayşe and last night he was half dead. Men, c’est incroyable .”

“Why here?”

“I help Murat sometimes.” She looked up at him. “So now that’s our secret, yes?” She nodded to the maid to put the clothes on the bed. “I’ll let you dress. We’re in the garden room.” She started to go, then turned, smiling to herself. “So now I know.”

“What?”

“What you’d look like in the morning. I always wondered. Your hair, the way it sticks out. Un petit garçon. Adorable .”

“I don’t feel adorable .”

“Ouf,” she said, waving her hand, then dropped it, all business. “Hurry. Murat’s waiting.”

But only Alexei was at the table, his face bland and cheerful, as if waking up in luxury was simply part of the natural order of things, the next turn of the wheel.

“What is this place?” he said, motioning to the maid to bring more coffee.

“A friend.”

“Friends like this in Istanbul. Imagine what America must be like.” Almost winking, enjoying himself. He looked at Leon. “You’re all right?”

“What time is it?”

Alexei looked up at the sky, a peasant’s clock. “Almost noon.”

“They patched you up?” Leon said, nodding to the bandage on Alexei’s arm.

Alexei nodded. “But no more tennis,” he said. Then when Leon didn’t react, “A joke.” A few hours earlier, dragging Leon into the water.

“Ah, both of you. Good,” Altan said, coming in.

Alexei stiffened, wary.

“Everyone feeling better?” Altan said.

“What are we doing here?” Alexei said.

“Recovering. Staying out of sight. The police won’t bother you now, but let’s not tempt them.” He looked at Alexei. “You want to get to the Americans in one piece.”

“And who’s taking me? You?”

“No. Leon. That’s his job.”

Alexei accepted this with a grunt. “When?”

“As soon as they get here. Meanwhile, enjoy the day. It’s always good after a rain, isn’t it? Everything so clear.”