Joseph Kanon - Istanbul Passage

He reached up, putting his hand against her cheek, the IV line dangling, as if it were part of a string he was trying to hold.

“And, you know, maybe it’s enough like this. To have a taste. Stop before-” She looked away. “You don’t see it at the beginning. I don’t know why not. How else would it end? What did I think this was. What did you think it was.”

She moved his hand back to the bed and stood up.

“So. Before that. While we still feel-” She moved to the chair, picking up a hat and purse. “You know at least it makes it easier. You like this.” She nodded to the hospital bed. “With all those things in your arm. So you have to stay there. Otherwise. You know what it would be like. You’d get up and hold me and then how could I go?” Her eyes filling now. “Because I’d think it was you. The one.”

She came back to the bed and leaned down, kissing him on the forehead, a good-bye kiss, then his arms went up around her, pulling her closer, and the kiss became something else, a secret, until he felt moisture in the cracks of his lips, smeared with her.

“Listen to me,” she said. “Later, you’ll think different things about me.” She put her fingers to his mouth before he could say anything. “You will. I just want you to remember. This part was true. Will you remember that?”

He said nothing, afraid she would remove the fingers, actually go.

“Your car’s here.” Obstbaum in the doorway, Kay’s head jerking back.

“Coming,” she said, barely getting it out.

Obstbaum lingered at the door so she just squeezed Leon’s hand, a different good-bye. Still caring about how it must look to him. She cocked her head toward the hall, the quiet room at the end. “I hope she comes back. Think how she’d feel. Knowing you waited for her.”

She turned to go, Leon’s hand resting on the bed but in his mind’s eye stretching out and then, seeing Obstbaum, dropping back. By the time she reached the door, Obstbaum had disappeared, but it was too late to reach her now, and his body was sinking into the sheets, the way it had felt on the bridge, when he thought he was dying.

“But would you do something for me?” Kay said, turning, eyes brimming.

He looked up, not having to nod, knowing she could sense it.

“Don’t tell her. About us.”

He waited.

“She wouldn’t like it. But that’s not it. It’s something for me. I want to be the one you can’t talk about. I want that much.”

They took the catheter out that afternoon and gave him broth, his first food. It was important to move, not lie in bed, so he was walked around the room, baby steps, wheeling the IV rack with him, a nurse at his side. Not too much at once, to the door, then back, a rest in the chair. By the end of the day, he could go to the bathroom by himself. Altan came just as it was getting dark.

“Out of bed already? That’s a good sign,” he said, flipping on the overhead light.

Leon looked up from the visitor’s chair, where he’d been staring at the floor.

“A little gloomy, sitting like this in the dark.” Altan pulled up another chair, a bustling motion, settling a briefcase by his side. “And you so lucky. The last man standing-that’s the expression, yes?”

“What are you going to say happened?”

“Say? What did happen.”

“No you won’t. It was a mess. And Jianu’s dead. Nobody got him. So what are you going to say?” His voice still weak, a slight croaking.

“Well, as to that.” Altan crossed his leg and sat back, so that his face went partly in shadow, the phantom moustache flickering back and forth on his lip. “Everybody’s dead. Except you. So it’s your story.” He looked at Leon. “How they killed each other.”

“And Gülün finally gets his medal.”

“No, that wouldn’t be convenient,” he said, drawing out a cigarette and lighting it. “A Turkish officer shooting a Russian? People would be upset. Oh,” he said, noticing Leon’s face, “it’s not allowed?” He looked at the cigarette. “Maybe this once. Something between us.”

“So who shot him?”

“Jianu. They shot each other. Unfortunately, some innocents got in the way.” He nodded at Leon. “Fortunately, they recovered.”

“And they’ll believe that.”

“Why wouldn’t they? It’s what everybody wants. What suits. Jianu’s dead, which is what the Russians wanted. And you know, I think they’ll be grateful Melnikov’s dead too. A brutal man, even for them. You heard about Stalingrad? His own men? Think what a relief to have him gone. Of course, they can’t say this.” He drew on the cigarette. “The Americans avenge their Mr. Bishop. And we? We get to protest to both. Guns in the streets. Endangering Turkish citizens. Apologies have been demanded. Even the Russians are embarrassed. An excess. They should learn from the Ottomans. The silk cord. No noise. No pop, pop . But very effective. Of course, they won’t learn that. It’s not in their nature.” He looked up. “But at least this way, an acceptable story.”

“And who shot me? If they killed each other.”

“Jianu. Before. If we say a Russian, there’s no end to this. Official protests. Swords waving. Everybody a gazi . It’s enough now. Jianu was that kind of man.” He looked straight at Leon. “First Mr. King. Poor Enver. Now Melnikov. And you.”

“Anybody else you can think of while you’re at it? Some unsolved cases you can throw in the file? Christ. Alexei killed everybody. That’s what I’m supposed to say?”

“You already have,” Altan said, lifting the briefcase. “You think only Emniyet does this? Arranges things?” He patted the case. “We have the statements. Gülün confirms yours. No medal this time, but a different reward, for his discretion.” He paused, taking in Leon’s expression. “You think it’s corrupt. The old empire. My friend, everybody changes the story. The Russians? They’ve believed their own lies for so long that-” He let the thought finish itself. “And now the Americans. You’re just learning how to live in the world.” He looked over at Leon. “They shot each other. You recovered. It’s the convenient story.”

“But there were witnesses. Not everybody’s Gülün. So you got rid of her. You sent her home.”

“Who? Oh, the faithful Mrs. Bishop.”

“You couldn’t take any chances with her. You got her a priority.”

“Leon, she didn’t need anyone to do that for her. All she had to do-” He stopped. “You still don’t know? She didn’t tell you?”

Leon said nothing, feeling for the armrest.

Altan made a kind of sigh through his nose. “That she leaves to me.” He put out the cigarette. “So foolish, the Americans, using the wife. His idea too, I’m told. Why? To save money? She has time on her hands, why not put her to use? To get what? What people say at parties in Ankara? Amateurs.” Alexei’s assessment too, a professional shake of the head. “And what happens? Complications,” he said, rolling an eye at Leon. “Emotions. There’s no place for that. She wanted the trade. Her husband’s killer.” He glanced away. “Maybe she felt-well, whatever reason. I told Barksdale it wasn’t necessary. Don’t give up Jianu. It’s just a matter of time. But no. They listened to her. An amateur.”

Leon was listening now too. Just a trade, she’d said, until you- Why did you?

“Always a mistake, using a wife. Think of the risk, the one can be used against the other.”

“But they weren’t,” Leon said dully, leading him, wanting to know, his voice sounding like an echo.

“Still, a risk. Two. It compromises any operation.”

“No. She never said a word.”