cripple on the shoulder, who looked ahead alertly. ‘Which is?’
‘There are more tides than sailors.’ His dedicated assistant completed the statement.
JC looked at Raul and Elizabeth triumphantly. The brio of his personal pride began to sparkle.
‘What do you mean by that?’ Raul asked.
‘Think back. The person who had custody of the documents was a lady, as I said, one of your compatriots,’ he added, indicating Elizabeth. ‘Called…’ He tried to remember. He touched the cripple on the shoulder again. ‘What was her name?’
‘Natalie. Natalie Golden.’
‘Natalie. Correct. Natalie… Golden.’
‘And what follows from there?’ Raul was very curious, which, added to irritation, turned into impatience.
‘From that follows the obvious question: what is a journalist’s greatest ambition?’
Raul and Elizabeth exchanged looks. They knew perfectly well the aspirations of their only daughter, professionally. Make a difference. Tell a great story, the exclusive that will give them great prestige, although Sarah was already heading down that road as the editor of international politics.
‘You gave her an exclusive?’ Elizabeth risked asking.
JC confirmed with a gesture.
‘In exchange for the documents?’ Raul couldn’t control his nerves.
‘It was a fair price,’ JC said. ‘Everything was done through intermediaries, obviously.’
‘How could she?’ Raul asked, more to himself than the other passengers.
‘The flesh is weak, my friend. In any case, the girl didn’t use the story.’
‘Why?’ Elizabeth asked, frightened.
‘She was eliminated by the same people who tried to kill your daughter,’ he answered, with no attempt to beat around the bush.
‘My God.’ Elizabeth, incredulous, put her face in her hands.
‘How could that happen?’ Raul stammered. He hadn’t expected this, either.
‘We’re fighting a deadly force. Don’t doubt it.’
Raul released his breath, freeing a small part of the bitterness he felt at that moment.
Elizabeth crossed herself and closed her damp eyes. Neither of them knew Natalie personally. She was someone Sarah mentioned only professionally or personally in the emotional stories she told them from time to time on vacation, during a phone conversation, or in an e-mail. They were used to thinking of her as one of their daughter’s best friends. Now all that had ended. Until this instant Elizabeth’s fear had no face or personality. It seemed like something turbid, unhealthy, capable of everything and nothing, open to negotiating, to yielding, to hope. That had just been lost. They were in the middle of real danger, and any feeling of control was a complete illusion. Now the attention with which JC’s assistant — since a lady doesn’t call him ‘cripple’ — watched everything and everyone made sense. The danger was out there at every corner, window, automobile, terrace. Everybody was suspicious, even innocent children. God have mercy on her daughter.
‘Who guarantees that you aren’t the one hunting my daughter?’ Raul asked suspiciously.
‘Think, my dear captain. Think,’ JC suggested, not at all offended.
Raul lowered his eyes. He’d let confusion overcome him. He had to be rational, logical, at times like this. ‘You have everything in your power again,’ Raul said.
JC confirmed with a gesture.
‘You’ve got the bull by the horns,’ he said. ‘What’s going to happen to us when this is all over?’
It was a pertinent question.
Elizabeth supported her husband’s inquiry and shot a terrified look at the old man. He seemed to enjoy their worry. To be feared was an opportunity.
‘Captain, listen to what I’m telling you. And the lady also. If I wanted to hurt you, I’d have done it already. If it were my intention to eliminate your daughter, she’d already be eliminated. I know what you’re thinking. She fooled me once. Another reason to fear me. You can be certain that she won’t do it twice. Not with me.’
‘It’s time,’ the cripple observed, ignoring the conversation in the backseat.
The old man looked out the car window. They were passing the monumental Hagia Sophia, its six minarets outlined against the sky, constructed as a Byzantine temple, and in these times one of the most famous mosques in the world.
‘Get to the place,’ he ordered.
The cripple whispered a kind of unintelligible litany to the driver, and he accelerated. It wasn’t easy taking on Turkish traffic, especially in a city like Istanbul, when one has a schedule to keep. But these were shrewd men who were taking what seemed a tourist itinerary, but which actually corresponded to a radial perimeter that had nothing to do with security, but was meant to ensure it wouldn’t take them more than ten minutes to get to the agreed upon location from any point. Everything was well planned.
The driver stopped the car on Sultanahmet Meydani. The cripple got out, opened the door first for JC, and waited for the other passengers to get out through the same door. Under normal conditions, Raul and Elizabeth would have admired the immense plaza situated between two great jewels of the Islamic world, Hagia Sophia, the great church transformed into a mosque in the fifteenth century, and the Blue Mosque, but not today.
‘Wait,’ JC ordered as he gestured toward the cripple. The car continued to drive on with only the Turkish driver.
‘What’s going on?’ Raul asked.
JC didn’t answer, completely oblivious to the historical, cultural dimension that surrounded him, the cries of sellers of carpets and simit. His expression was serious.
Seconds later the cripple signaled for a taksi, among the many passing along the central street, and one stopped quickly. They got into a bright yellow vehicle.
The cripple gave the taxi driver instructions, and they took off.
For several minutes, no one disturbed the silence inside the taxi.
Raul was the first to do so.
‘Why so much secrecy? Why did we change cars?’ he whispered.
‘Have you never heard that the careful man dies an old man, Captain?’
‘The danger’s that great?’
‘They killed Natalie, Raul,’ Elizabeth mentioned. For her that was enough.
‘It’s not a question of danger, Captain, but of principles,’ JC clarified. ‘A man in my line of work can never drop his guard. Do it once, it may be all right, maybe nothing happens. Risk another time, one becomes negligent, and it’s over. That won’t happen to me. I accepted that many years ago. It’s the secret of my success. Never, never leave a clue or loose ends.’
Elizabeth trembled.
‘You mean you have plans for us in the end?’ Raul asked.
‘Of course.’
‘We’re loose ends, aren’t we?’
‘No, my dear captain. You’re not loose ends. Nor am I going to explain the definition of loose ends. What I said about your daughter, I’ll say to you, and you.’ He looked at Raul and Elizabeth. ‘If I wanted you dead, we wouldn’t be having this conversation, nor would I be bringing you to see a friend.’ His expression was peremptory.
‘Who is this friend?’ Raul asked again.
‘You’ll soon find out,’ JC replied. ‘Enjoy the sights.’
They didn’t exchange another word until the end of the ride. Six minutes later, the cripple paid the fare with new Turkish lira and opened the door for the master and the couple.
The final destination wasn’t far, nor could it be, since JC no longer had the stamina of former times and couldn’t walk far. He limited himself to a few steps, at his own pace, always on flat terrain. Uphill was deadly.
They entered a secular building, rose-colored, with a group of black placards inscribed with gold letters at the entrance.
‘What’s this place?’ Elizabeth asked.
‘A hamam,’ JC answered, continuing ahead.
The cripple came last with his hand inside his jacket on his gun, alert as a falcon.
