Joseph Kanon - Istanbul Passage

An unintended irony, Leon’s head still muddled.

“Get here from where?” he said. “The consulate?”

“No, Ankara,” Altan said, not elaborating.

“Then why the ship?” Alexei said, suspicious. “All the arrangements-”

“Compromised,” Altan said. “Once we knew that, we had to get you off.”

Leon stared at him, trying to make sense of this.

“Compromised?” Alexei said.

“A word to the police. Luckily, intercepted,” Altan said, almost breezy. “Someone, I think, didn’t like you very much.”

No sense at all now.

“But the ship got out,” Leon said, alarmed. “You didn’t have it stopped later.”

“We made an agreement,” Altan said, indicating Alexei. He checked his wristwatch. “They should be there tonight.”

“In Palestine,” Leon said, an odd sense of relief, at least one thing gone right.

“More likely with the British Mediterranean Fleet. Back to Cyprus after all. But that’s not in our control, is it?” This to Alexei. “Now it’s up to them.”

Alexei nodded, watching him.

“I wonder if you would do something for me. While we’re waiting.”

Alexei said nothing.

“You knew Melnikov. A prominent figure here now. Very interested in Turkey. It would be so useful-a matter of dates. When you knew him. After Stalingrad, I know, but when exactly?”

“Useful to whom?”

“To Turkey.”

“I’m not working for Turkey.”

“No, the Americans. But we have an arrangement with the Americans.”

“Then let them ask.”

“They will. But maybe not so soon. A small matter to them. But something more to us. Nothing, I think, to you.” He paused. “A persuasive man, Melnikov. There was a Turk-well, born in Kars, a Turkish mother, you would think a source of loyalty, but a Russian father, so Russian during the war. When Melnikov persuaded him. To do some work. Against Turkey. We know what happened to him-Norilsk, not the reward he expected. But there was another man, and him-”

“I don’t know.”

“By name, no. If you did, an easy job for us. Just a name. But if we had the dates. We could match the dates. A matter of elimination. Where was Melnikov? When? Not so difficult. The Americans will ask anyway. So, an exercise for you. Since you’re here.”

Alexei glanced at Leon.

And why not? A little something for Altan, the Victorei well away now. Leon blinked his eyes, a kind of nod.

“Exactly, it’s not possible,” Alexei said.

“Well, do the best you can,” Altan said casually. “General movements. There’s some paper over there. I find it helps, putting things down. One thing, then another one comes. More coffee? Ayşe? I’m going to steal Leon for a few minutes. Arrangements for later. You’ll be all right here.”

Alexei looked up, a tiny flicker of anxiety, as if he were still clutching to Leon’s jacket in the water.

“There’s the garden, if you get restless,” Altan said, “but no further, please. We don’t want to take any chances. Disappoint the Americans.”

He took Leon through the sofa and out onto the terrace facing the Bosphorus, busy with boats. A few geraniums in pots had been brought outside to sit in the sun.

“Shall we start?” Altan said, half to himself.

“Enver,” Leon said, the first thing that came to mind. “You knew all the passports.”

“When a man wants to be someone else, it’s always interesting,” Altan said, then stopped. “You want to know about Enver? He’s of no importance. So unnecessary, to do that. A madman, that one.” He cocked his head back toward the garden room. “Two children. And now I have to arrange a pension for the widow. Who gives me the money for that?”

“Maybe your new American friends,” Leon said, trying it out. “Aren’t they paying you for him?” Another look back toward Alexei.

“Paying? I don’t think you understand how it is.”

“Then how is it.”

Altan looked over, almost a reprimand. “Calm yourself, Mr. Bauer. Leon. We’re working together now, you know.”

“How did that happen?”

“Your ambassador. And your Mr. Barksdale.”

“Who?”

Altan smiled. “New to me too. From Washington. He came especially. A military plane.”

“Especially for what?”

“Mr. Bishop worked for him. So there was a concern.”

“And you thought you’d give him a ring and see if there was anything you could do for him.”

“No. He called me. He asked for my help. There were, you know, liaisons during the war. Official channels.”

“But this was unofficial.”

Altan nodded. “As you say.”

“So how much did you ask for Alexei?”

Altan glared at him, trying to decide whether to be offended or move on.

“Why not?” Leon said. “The Russians are paying. Why should you work for free?”

Altan took out a cigarette, lighting it with a hand cupped against the breeze, a minute’s stalling.

“Let me explain something to you. We need the Americans now. So we help them. There’s no price for that. How can there be? Without them, we’d be-” He opened his hand to the air, letting the phrase finish itself, then turned to Leon. “We can’t be neutral anymore.”

“What happened to the balancing act? Between us and the bear.”

Altan smiled a little. “I know you better now. Colleagues. We don’t have to pretend. The bear wants to eat us. You don’t. Which would you choose?”

“So we get Alexei. And what do you get?”

Altan drew on the cigarette, looking back to the Bosphorus, taking another minute to frame an answer.

“Very beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Not last night.”

“No. But now look. It’s always beautiful to me. Asia, Europe.” He gestured back and forth. “And Istanbul the bridge. You say. Not us, you. A bridge to what? Some storybook in your head maybe. Byzantines. Ottomans. Not the Occupation, the British ships there.” He nodded toward the water. “The shame. Soldiers coming back. In rags. No, all dancing girls and sherbets. Stories. You’re in love with the past. Well, maybe all of us, a little.” He turned to face Leon. “We don’t think we’re a bridge. We think we’re the center. The world used to spread out from here, in every direction. For years. But then it began to shrink. Piece by piece, then all at once. And now there’s only us. Turkey. So we have to keep that. The bear would eat us, he’s always wanted to eat us. An easy job now. No more empire. This city? A backwater. Yes.” He held up his hand, no objections. “They think so. So do you. Only Turks here now, and who cares about them? So we have to make you care. Make you our friends. Comrades. Hah. Against the comrades.” He flicked the cigarette toward the water, pleased with his wordplay. “So we do what we can. For our friends. A small price to pay.” He looked over. “You see why it was so important to find him. Even use Gülün. A matter of state,” he said. “But you kept running. And clever.” He shook his head. “Palestine. Not Greece.”

Leon looked away, unexpectedly pleased. “I thought you would give him to the Russians.”

“Leon,” Altan said, his tone puzzled, as if Leon hadn’t been listening. “We are giving him to the Russians.”

Leon turned, the air around him suddenly still. Nothing moved, boats, waves, everything stopped in place.

“I told you last night,” Altan said. “The Americans don’t want him. Not now. Not if they can use him to trade.”

“To trade,” Leon repeated flatly, no sound at all now, not even birds. In the garden room, Alexei would be writing down dates, asking Ayşe for more coffee. “Trade for what?”

“Their man in the consulate. A much bigger fish now than our Romanian. Killing Mr. Bishop. Who next? Maybe you. Jianu’s information, you know, is-how old? Months at least, maybe years. Useful, but not so important as someone still operating inside.”