Joseph Kanon - Istanbul Passage

“What is it?” Alexei said, alert, a scent in the wind.

“Nothing,” Leon said, his voice hollow, emptied out.

Nothing. Wrong about everything. Walking, unable to stop. A life can change in a second and never be the same. A hand sliding away in the water. A shot fired on a quay. More voices, then Altan’s on the terrace. You have to think what’s important to you. Meaning something else. But what was? Not even a second, less, and everything changed forever. One more, and he would be them. Not an accidental killer. One of them. Twisting necks, throwing people away. Maybe he already was, the second already passed. Alexei not seeing them yet, wondering what kind of car it would be.

“No,” Leon said out loud, not even bothering to lower his voice.

Alexei turned to him, all attention, head up. A twig snapping in the woods.

“Don’t. Don’t look. Listen.” Quick, his mind racing. The others still coming. “It’s a trap. See the stairs?” Just ahead, no more than a minute at this pace. He took out the gun and slipped it into Alexei’s pocket, a thief’s movement. “Give me the duffel.” One hand over the other, then only Leon’s. “When I say, head for the stairs. After that-”

“Run,” Alexei said, finishing it.

“I’m sorry,” Leon said, the word not big enough.

“And you?”

But there was no time, not for an answer, anything. Almost at the stairs.

“Ready?” Leon said, lifting the bag. “Now.”

He pushed into the simit peddler, a shove with the duffel. The man pitched forward, teetering, the tray sliding off and spilling simits into the crowd, away from the stairs. Noises of surprise, everyone looking, then rushing to help the man, a general swarming. Leon looked up, Kay seeing him now, Melnikov coming from behind, his gaze to Leon’s right, past the commotion to the blur of Alexei running away. Alexei stopped, recognizing him, then looked back to Leon, mouth open, moving pieces. A second, just long enough for Melnikov to raise his gun and fire. A sharp, clanging noise, the bullet hitting iron, then shrieks, sounds of panic, the simits scattered again as people ran for cover. Another shot as Alexei disappeared down the stairs. Melnikov started running, pushing Kay aside, everyone scattering, ducking against the bridge railing. When he reached the stairs, he glanced over at Leon, panting, his face almost a snarl, before he plunged down.

From below Leon could hear screams, shouts of protest, people being shoved. He remembered the crowds shopping, lined up for the restaurants. Another trap. Why had he sent him there? But where else could he have gone? A head start, at least, a minute to save himself.

Melnikov’s men raced after him to the stairs. Leon swiveled his head. Gülün’s men, invisible before, were rushing down from the Karaköy side. Bottling him up. Leon imagined downstairs, women crouching, men yelling, Alexei running toward the freedom of Eminönü, seeing Melnikov’s men coming down. Frantic, back and forth, the stalls a maze. Batteries and shoes and toys, knocked to the floor as people were crushed against them. Another shot, the sound different.

The bridge was still emptying, people hurrying to the ends, afraid now of being caught in any cross fire. A tram, unaware, had begun to lumber across and a few people ran over to it, hanging onto the side. Kay stood, still looking at Leon, her face bewildered, jumping when she heard the shot below. What was she seeing now? Before? Wrong about everything.

She looked behind her, a quick check, then moved toward Leon, another woman following, not a Turk, western dress. Someone Leon knew but couldn’t recognize, out of place. And then, even more confused, he did. Dorothy Wheeler. Who knew where all the files were, what Frank must have found. Who’d been walking behind Kay, next to Melnikov. I think you may be surprised. More shots from below, coming from both ends, as if they were firing at each other.

Then suddenly Alexei was at the top of the far stairs, a backtracking maneuver, his head poking up like a rabbit out of its hole, no, a fox, eyes desperate and calculating, trying to outrun the hunt. He looked around, the road almost empty, traffic stopped at either end, and started back to Karaköy, sprinting, wiry arms pumping as he came toward them. Leon could almost feel the surge of adrenaline, faster. Not far, a minute of luck, that’s all. But the fox never won. Leon saw that the bridge was like a broad open field without cover, an illusion of escape. He hadn’t saved Alexei, he’d only given him a head start to be killed. But at least running, all anyone could really hope for, a running start.

“Leon.” Kay, heading toward him too. Dorothy had disappeared. “Thank God.”

“ Stoi ! Jianu!”

The blast of a shot, Melnikov firing from the top of the stairs, more screams from the railing. Alexei turned, looking back over his shoulder, catching a second shot in his chest. The force of it almost spun him around, his body slumping over, then forcing itself back up, the last ninth life, just enough strength to lift his gun. Hand shaking, trying to keep the shot from going wild. Leon pushed Kay to the ground, covering her.

“Stay down.” Sounding like someone else, hoarse.

Another crack in the air from his right. He heard Melnikov grunt, then yelp, surprised, and looked up. The eerie quiet of a moment of elastic time. Melnikov slowly dropped to his knees, a forest trunk falling, holding his side, Alexei still bent over, but starting to move, awkward steps, staggering to some invisible finish line. Then Melnikov fired, a miss this time, but the sound speeding everything up again. Alexei tried to run faster, but his feet splayed, tripping over themselves, until they finally stopped and he crumpled onto the road, the gun clattering away from him.

“Don’t move,” Leon said to Kay, then got up and ran to Alexei, blind to everything around him, Kay’s voice behind, men rushing toward him, the fishermen at the rail lifting their heads to watch.

“Jianu!” Melnikov called again, weaker this time.

On the stairs there was a clomping of feet, Gülün barking out some order.

Leon dropped next to Alexei. He was gulping for air, blood pouring across his upper chest.

“The gun,” he said, raspy, moving his eyes to the side. “Get the gun.”

Leon picked it up.

“Jianu!”

Leon looked behind. Melnikov getting up, holding his stomach.

“So,” Alexei said, still breathing in gasps.

“Hold on. We’ll get an ambulance for you,” Leon said. But who wanted him?

Alexei shook his head, then blinked at the gun.

“You do it. Not them.”

Leon froze, the gun suddenly cold in his hand.

Alexei nodded. “It’s time.”

Leon stared at him.

“My friend.” His eyes locked on Leon now. “Not them.”

Leon heard the scrape of a shoe on the road, Melnikov moving.

“What are you doing?” Kay said to Melnikov, somewhere in the distance.

“Do it,” Alexei said, another blink, some awful permission. He moved his hand, limp, covered with blood, to touch Leon’s arm, his eyes sure, so wide that Leon thought he could see to the back of them, who he was. “Please,” he said, his voice fainter.

Leon knelt, paralyzed. One second. Alexei looking at him as if there was no one else on the bridge. Please. Leon fired. Alexei’s body jerked, an electric jolt, his eyes even wider, then everything settled, quiet.

“Are you crazy?” Melnikov was yelling, close now, the bridge noisy again with men running.

Leon turned, as if he were protecting Alexei, already dead, with his own body. But Melnikov wasn’t aiming at Alexei, his other hand still clutching his side, bleeding, eyes rabid with fury.