Istanbul Passage (43 page)

“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.”

Leon saw Alexei back in Laleli, extending his hand, squeezing an invisible lemon.

“If he is inside,” Leon said, his voice plodding, one thought, then another. “It could have been—”

“Well, that’s what you’ll find out.”

“Me.”

“Yes, of course. You make the bargain with Melnikov. Who else? I can’t be seen as interfering. Even now, we should be indoors. Who knows if someone is watching?”

Involuntarily, Leon looked out at the water.

“He’s there,” Altan said. “And now another man dead. They have to act. That’s why Barksdale called. Can you help. And of course I knew you must have Jianu. So everything could be arranged. If I got to you in time. And I did.” He turned his hand up, then lowered his voice. “Jianu’s not so important now. This one is.”

“Then why would the Russians trade him for Alexei?”

“No one defects. A matter of principle with them—emotions, even,” he said, correcting himself. “You remember Melnikov at the party? Don’t worry, they’ll trade. They can’t afford to let him go, set an example. The one inside? It’s just a question of time now, before the Americans get him. They have to. But such a mess—looking here, looking there, turning everything upside down. Much easier to have him delivered. Worth throwing Jianu back to get him.”

“Then what was that charade before?” Leon glanced toward the house. “People flying in from Ankara.”

“Leon. Would you rather have him believe that you’re taking him to the Russians?”

Animals were herded through gates, the lining up itself meant to reassure, pacify them, make the rest easier. Something every butcher knew.

“But not before you got a few dates out of him.” Squeezing harder, only pulp left.

Altan shrugged.

Leon looked down suddenly at the wooden slats of the terrace, feeling them about to open, the jolt of a trapdoor, his whole body poised for a second in midair.

“Leon.”

No louder than a faint echo, all sound pulled into some vacuum. On the Bosphorus, a swirl of silent birds were diving for something
he couldn’t make out, a fish, something hapless flailing on the surface until it slipped under.

“They’ll kill him.”

“Eventually.”

The birds were regrouping, swooping up, then diving again.

He turned to Altan. “I won’t do it.” His breath ragged, the way it had been holding on to the life preserver.

Altan looked at him, surprised. “Won’t do what?”

“Give him to the Russians.”

“Do you think you are working for yourself? You’re part of this. It’s been decided.” He peered at Leon. “You don’t believe me? I’ll phone. You can ask Barksdale yourself. It’s what they want.”

And suddenly his stomach, fluttering, began to cramp, knowing that he didn’t have to call, that it was true. You’re part of this.

“They’ll kill him,” he said again.

“This is a concern to you? No such tears for Enver, I notice.”

“I didn’t kill him.”

“You’re not killing this one, either. Who are you working for? Him? The Americans want a trade.”

“You do it then.”

Altan shook his head. “Why would I go to Melnikov to suggest this? The man in the consulate is nothing to us—the Americans’ problem. Melnikov will believe you. He already thinks you work for them. And now it turns out—he’s right.” He looked over at Leon. “Isn’t he?”

The logic of it encircling him, the slats holding.

“I was just supposed to pick him up,” Leon said quietly, talking to himself.

“We all think that at the beginning. That it’s easy. So you learn. You can’t be sentimental. About him? You have to think what’s important to you.” He waited. “It’s been decided.” Another moment, staring at Leon now. “I’ve explained you to Barksdale. Bebek, all that business. They trust you to do this.”

Leon stared back, saying nothing. I’ve explained you. And then it was too late. His silence had answered for him.

“Good,” Altan said. “Now, the arrangements. You meet with Melnikov. Let him decide the place for the exchange. Then he won’t be suspicious. But somewhere public. You bring Jianu, he brings their man—interesting to think what Melnikov will tell him, no?”

Lining them up in a stall.

“Make sure it’s somewhere you can have your people waiting. You don’t want to make a spectacle. He’ll be armed no matter what you say, so you too, agree to that. But not his man—or Jianu. No dramatics. They like a formal exchange—start here, you there, a meeting in the middle. Like a duel. Always afraid of tricks. They think everyone’s like them.” He held up a finger. “But soon—today, if possible. I don’t want to keep Jianu here. Anyway, it’s better for them too. Before their man can suspect.” He looked up. “A place where he can’t run, when he sees your people.”

“My people,” Leon said.

Altan opened his hand, an offering gesture.

“But you can’t be involved.”

“Gülün’s men don’t always wear uniforms. But you see them at the door and you know there’s no way out. Melnikov’s men—you won’t even have to guess. Cossacks. Out to here.” He indicated burly shoulders. “Nothing ever fits. A place with exits would be good. Haghia Sophia, somewhere like that. But let him pick. A guarantee for him, that he’s not walking into a trap. They like that.”

“And if they start shooting?”

“They won’t. That would ruin it for the next time.”

Leon looked up.

“One of their men in Washington, I think. You’ll talk to him another time about that trade.”

“A man in Washington,” Leon said, feeling his stomach clench again.

“Well, there always is. More than one. So for a while he’s not
sure who you mean, and they all lie low—a good thing for you. If not, he’ll like you thinking there is. But there must be. It’s always safe to play that card. What’s the matter?” he said, taking in Leon’s face. “Ah, did our friend already play it? Always make them think you have more. Leon. How would he know? Do you think they would tell him that?”

Leon looked at the water. People hear things, sometimes by chance. And people lie. He saw the flat in Laleli again, tidy, duffel packed, ready to go, Alexei hunched over the board, plotting moves.

“So, your first meeting. Somewhere neutral. Where Emniyet wouldn’t notice,” Altan said, smiling. “Right under my nose, an innocent encounter.”

“The bar at the Park.”

“Like during the war? Easy days for us. All of you watching each other. No,” he said, thinking. “The Pera. Mrs. Bishop. You’re with her in the bar. Melnikov comes in, says hello—he met her here, at the party—you invite him to sit, she has to go. An errand. Or however you want to arrange that.” He looked over. “You’re good at those things. Try not to leave the hotel with him. When he’s there, we can keep an eye on you. Afterward—” He made a brushing motion with his hand. “He’d know we were following. Even us.”

“What about me? Won’t he have me—”

“Naturally. So after, take a ferry to Üsküdar. There’ll be a taxi—don’t worry, it’ll know you. His people will have a longer time getting one. And the Asian side, it’s confusing for them.” He looked at his watch. “You’ll be back in time for tea.”

“All worked out,” Leon said.

“No, not all,” Altan said, preoccupied, not hearing anything in Leon’s voice. “Now the phone call. Let’s go over that. How did you get the number? His private number. He’ll expect all their consulate phones to be tapped.”

“Are they?”

“Mm. So is this one. But how did you get it? Not something he hands out.”

“Georg,” Leon said, not even thinking. “Georg gave it to me.”

Altan looked over. “Good.” He nodded, pleased. “Georg. Good.”

Leon took up the part. “I found the man Georg said you were looking for.”

“What man?” Altan said, lowering his voice, playing too.

“The translator. Fluent in Romanian, Russian. Some German. Hard to find, but I did.”

Altan was quiet for a minute, running the conversation through his mind, then smiled a little. “So you did.”

A French door opened behind them.

“
Domnul
Jianu,” Altan said, the Romanian word a courtesy. “You’re finished with your lunch?”

“Do you have a cigarette?” he asked Leon, then to Altan, “American cigarettes. You get spoiled.”

“That’s all they have in America,” Altan said, pleasant.

Leon handed the pack to Jianu, keeping his hand steady. What did his face look like, some telltale blush, giving him away? But maybe people only saw what they were looking for, a magic mirror effect, the smooth, reassuring look of someone you thought you knew.

“It’s arranged?” Alexei said, lighting the cigarette.

“Almost. A phone call,” Altan said.

Alexei looked up.

“They want to hear from me personally,” Leon said. “Make sure.” Not even a catch in his throat, his voice smooth too, someone else.

Alexei nodded, accepting this.

“Let’s see if the line’s open now,” Altan said, beginning to move. “Better stay inside.” This to Alexei, with a look to the house. “Boats have eyes too.”

“But you’d be the ones watching,” Alexei said. “I thought.”

Altan met his stare. “Not only.” He made an ushering gesture toward the house. “Leon,” he said, heading inside.

Leon stood rooted to the deck, waiting for Alexei, who drew on the cigarette, watching Altan go.

“Be careful of that one,” Alexei said, his voice intimate, something between them. “I don’t trust him.”

Leon looked at the water, afraid of his face again. “He’s right, though. You never know.”

“No,” Alexei said and started for the door, putting his hand on Leon’s shoulder as he passed.

Leon kept staring out. The birds had gone away. Was anyone in fact watching? What would they see? The long white terrace, motorboats tied to mooring poles, the flash of the sun on the French windows. Pretty, placid, as calm as the water where the fish had been.