From the proportions of the staircase and the height of the ceilings it was obvious that we were in a large building; but there was nothing noticeably palatial about that part of it. We might have been in a provincial town hall. The walls were covered with dingy oil paintings. There seemed to be hundreds of them, mostly landscapes with cattle or battle scenes, and all with the same yellowy-brown varnish color. I don’t know anything about paintings. I suppose they must have been valuable or they would not have been in a palace; but I found them depressing, like the smell of mothballs.
There was a pair of heavy metal doors at the end of that corridor, and beyond it more corridors and more paintings.
“We are in what used to be the palace harem now,” the lieutenant said impressively. “The steel doors guarded it. Each woman had her own suite of rooms. Now certain important government departments have their offices here.”
I was about to say: “Ah, taken over by the eunuchs, you mean,” but thought better of it. He did not look as if he cared for jokes. Besides, I had had a long day and was feeling tired. We went on through another lot of steel doors. I was resigned to more corridors, when the janitor stopped and unlocked the door of one of the rooms. The lieutenant turned on the lights and motioned me in.
It was not much larger than my room at the Park, but probably the height of the ceiling and the heavy red- and-gold curtains over the window made it seem smaller. The walls were hung with patterned red silk and several large paintings. There was a parquet floor and a white marble fireplace. A dozen gilt armchairs stood around the walls, as if the room had just been cleared for dancing. The office desk and chairs standing in the center looked like a party of badly dressed gate crashers.
“You may sit down and you may smoke,” the lieutenant said; “but please be careful if you smoke to put out your cigarettes in the fireplace.”
The janitor left, shutting the door behind him. The lieutenant sat down at the desk and began to use the telephone.
The paintings in the room were, with one exception, of the kind I had seen in the corridors, only bigger. On one wall was a Dutch fishing boat in a storm; facing it, alongside a most un-Turkish group of nymphs bathing in a woodland stream, was a Russian cavalry charge. The painting over the fireplace, however, was undoubtedly Turkish. It showed a bearded man in a frock coat and fez facing three other bearded men who were looking at him as if he had B.O. or had said something disgusting. Two of the group wore glittering uniforms.
When the lieutenant had finished telephoning, I asked him what the painting was about.
“That is the leaders of the nation demanding the abdication of Sultan Abdul Hamid the Second.”
“Isn’t that rather a strange picture to have in a Sultan’s palace?”
“Not in this palace. A greater man than any of the Sultans died here, greater even than Suleiman.” He gave me a hard, challenging look, daring me to deny it.
I agreed hastily. He went into a long rambling account of the iniquities of the Bayar-Menderes government and of the reasons why it had been necessary for the army to clean out that rats’ nest and form the Committee of National Union. Over the need to shoot down without mercy all who were trying to wreck the Committee’s work, especially those members of the Democratic party who had escaped justice at the army’s hands, he became so vehement that he was still haranguing me when Major Tufan walked into the room.
I felt almost sorry for the lieutenant. He snapped to attention, mumbling apologies like a litany. Tufan had been impressive enough in civilian clothes; in uniform and with a pistol on his belt he looked as if he were on his way to take charge of a firing squad-and looking forward keenly to the job. He listened to the lieutenant for about five seconds, then dismissed him with a flick of a hand.
As the door closed on the lieutenant, Tufan appeared to notice me. “Do you know that President Kemal Ataturk died in this palace?” he asked.
“I gathered so from the lieutenant.”
“It was in 1938. The Director was much with him before the end and the President talked freely. One thing he said the Director has always remembered. ‘If I can live another fifteen years, I can made Turkey a democracy. If I die sooner, it will take three generations.’ That young officer probably represents the type of difficulty he had in mind.” He put his briefcase on the desk and sat down. “Now, as to your difficulties. We have both had time to think. What do you propose?”
“Until I know what it’s going to be like at the villa, I don’t see how I can propose anything.”
“As you are their chauffeur, it will obviously be necessary for you to attend to the fueling of the car. There is a garage outside Sariyer that you could go to. It has a telephone.”
“I had thought of that, but it may not be reliable. It depends on how much the car is used. For example, if I only drive into Istanbul and back, I can’t pretend to need petrol immediately. That car takes over a hundred liters. If I were always going to the garage at a fixed time to fill up no matter what mileage I had driven, they would become suspicious.”
“We can dispense with the fixed time. I have arranged for a twenty-four-hour watch. And even if you foresee future difficulties, you should be able to make one single call to report on them. After that, if necessary, we will use a different method. It will entail more risk for you, but that cannot be avoided. You will have to write your reports. Then you will put the report inside an empty cigarette packet. The person following you at the time-I have arranged to have the car changed every day-will then pick the reports up.”
“You mean you expect me to throw them out of the window and hope they won’t notice?”
“Of course not. You will drop them whenever you find a suitable moment when you have stopped and are outside the car.”
I thought it over; that part of it might not be so bad. I would just have to make sure that I had plenty of cigarette packets. What I did not like was having to write out the reports. I said so.
“There is a slight risk, I agree,” he said; “but you will have to take it. Remember, they will only search you if you have given them reason to suspect you. You must be careful not to.”
“I still have to write the reports.”
“You can do that in the toilet. I do not imagine you will be observed there. Now, as to our communicating information and orders to you.” He opened his briefcase and took out a small portable transistor radio of the type I had seen German tourists carrying. “You will carry this in your bag. If it should be seen, or you should be heard using it, you will say that it was given to you by a German client. Normally it receives only standard broadcast frequencies, but this one has been modified. I will show you.” He slipped it out of the carrying case, took the back off, and pointed to a small switch just by the battery compartment. “If you operate that switch it will receive V.H.F. transmissions on a fixed frequency from up to half a mile away. The transmissions will be made to you from a surveillance car. It is a system we have tried out, and, providing there are no large obstacles such as buildings between the two points, it works. Your listening times will be seven in the morning and eleven at night. Is that clear? For security it will be better if you use the earphone attachment.”
“I see. You say it has been modified. Does that mean that it won’t receive ordinary broadcasts? Because if so I couldn’t explain it…”
“It will work normally unless you move this switch.” He replaced the back. “Now then, I have some information for you. Both Harper and Miss Lipp are traveling on Swiss passports. We had no time at the airport to discover, without arousing suspicion, if the passports were genuine or not. The relevant particulars are as follows: Walter Karl Harper, aged thirty-eight, described as an engineer, place of birth Berne, and Elizabeth Maria Lipp, aged thirty-six, described as a student, place of birth Schaffhausen.”
“A student?”
“Anyone can be described as a student. It is meaningless. Now, as to the Kosk Sardunya.” He referred to a paper in the briefcase. “It is the property of the widow of a former minister in the government of President Inonu. She is nearly eighty now and has for some years lived quietly with her daughter in Izmir. She has from time to time tried to sell Sardunya, but nobody had wished to buy at the price she asks. For the past two years, she has leased it furnished to a NATO naval mission which had business in the zone. The mission’s work ended at the beginning of the year. Her agent here in Istanbul was unable to find another tenant until three months ago. Then he received an inquiry from an Austrian named Fischer-yes, exactly-who was staying at the Hilton Hotel. Fischer’s other names are Hans Andreas, and he gave an address in Vienna. He wanted a furnished villa for two months, not a particular villa, but one in that neighborhood and near to the shore. He was willing to pay well for a short lease, and gave a deposit in Swiss francs. On the lease, which is in his name, his occupation is given as manufacturer. He arrived three weeks
