Straits of Power

standing on the sidewalk. He was shorter than Mohr by at least twenty centimeters — about eight inches — and had a heavier, stockier build.

He saw Mohr, smiled, approached, and greeted Mohr in fluent German. They got into the back of the Mercedes, and fastened their seat belts. The driver barged his way into traffic.

“Herr Iqbal again sends his apologies. I think you’ll get everything you expected without him, though. I intend to take good care of you.”

“You speak German very well.”

The Turk sighed. “I used to live in Frankfurt. I was a building engineer.”

Mohr wasn’t sure what to say next. Was this supposed to be some sort of code he hadn’t been told about? Who knew what messages hadn’t gotten through to him the past few days?

“The consulate guards know where I’m going, but I don’t myself. Where are we going?”

“Hotel Mercure.”

Mohr was impressed — one of the finest in Istanbul.

The driver narrowly beat a red light, and a pedestrian made a rude gesture. The driver mumbled something that sounded vaguely like Italian but wasn’t. The other person in front grunted in response.

“These men work for you?”

“Rent-a-guards, like the car. Refugees from Portugal.”

“You speak Portuguese?”

“I talk to them in English. They understand it enough.”

Mohr nodded. The motion was jerky; his muscles were tight from nerves.

The Turk took a calendar book out of a jacket pocket, and made some notes in the back with a felt-tip pen. He held the book open in his lap, well below the level of the car windows, and aimed it at Mohr. Darkness had fallen, and the New City streets near Taksim Square were well lit. Enough light came into the car for Mohr to see.

Mohr saw, for some reason written in English, “Quiet until hotel.” Then he understood. The Turk had used English to make it look like an improvised phrase book meant for the bodyguards.

Tradecraft every step of the way. God knows who’s following us besides my own security backup…

No. They’re not my own anymore. From here on, other Germans are the enemy.

Once back in the hotel suite, Felix turned on the stereo. He tuned the radio to a Turkish talk show, and turned the volume up until it was very loud. The enlisted SEAL did another sweep for bugs: clean. A buffet of food had been laid out at the bar area during their absence, along with a big urn of coffee.

Klaus Mohr sat on a couch, next to Salih. No one spoke. Costa arrived; he’d left the Hyundai in a public garage nearby. He whispered gently in Felix’s ear, “Two cars were tailing you. Both had two occupants. Looked like German toughs. One car parked in the hotel garage; I expect that’s the one that’ll pick up Mohr later. The driver’s sitting, I guess to be on call in case this party ends early or Mohr doesn’t like it. The other car’s circling, as if to keep up roving surveillance around the hotel.” He quickly told Felix the make of the cars, their colors, and their license-plate numbers. Felix memorized the information and shot Costa a thumbs-up.

Costa had a remarkable knack for vehicle surveillance and countersurveillance — one reason he was on the team. Costa had also had an unfair advantage over the Germans. Felix drove Mohr and Salih from the consulate to the hotel using a preplanned route with features that would force any tailing vehicles to exhibit tradecraft — which would show to someone with Costa’s trained eye. And since both SEAL cars knew the route to the hotel, they could sometimes split up and then get back together, giving Costa relative mobility even in traffic. But the Germans needed to stay glued to the auto with Klaus Mohr, if they were to provide Mohr with constant protection while in the streets.

Soon Chief Porto and four more enlisted SEALs came in, singly or in pairs. The whole team was assembled.

The house phone rang. Salih answered, spoke, hung up.

He grinned.

There was another knock. Salih went to the peephole, then opened the door to the suite. Three very attractive, well-dressed young women came in. Salih talked to them rapidly in Turkish, and offered each a large amount of cash. The women seemed surprised, but not for long. They took the money, giggled, piled plates with food from the buffet, and went into one of the bedrooms and closed the door. Soon Felix heard male voices and music coming from there, in between the Turkish men speaking on the radio, and the muffled noise of the Japanese next door — both sexes now, sounding very intoxicated.

Our own call girls are watching a movie or TV show. One of Felix’s teams had been tasked to arrange for the high-class hookers, by asking around among local taxi drivers for a recommendation, suitable for entertaining a diplomat, and then making a pay-phone call. Felix went into the other two bedrooms, and turned on music on the radios, different stations. He turned on more music in the kitchenette next to the bar and buffet.

Porto took small tools from his bag, opened the hallway door halfway, and worked for a minute on the electronic lock. He let the door slam shut. An enlisted SEAL went through the door to the bedroom area and closed it behind him; Porto put his ear to that door. Satisfied, he stepped back, glanced at Felix, and nodded. The internal door was soundproof, as advertised.

“It’s okay to talk now,” Felix said in English. “Don’t raise your voice above the radios. I made them loud in case we missed any bugs. Just let the Turkish chatter and the music flow, and talk under it.”

“What did you do to the door?” Mohr asked.

Felix hadn’t expected the question. Then he remembered that Mohr was supposed to be a techie. “The lock has an electromagnet, right? And all room locks are wired to a central processor, so hotel people can change key- card combinations from downstairs when someone checks out.”

“Yes.”

“The door acts like a sounding board. When vibrating, trace currents from that lock could be used to eavesdrop on this room.”

Mohr smiled weakly, interested in the shoptalk but taken aback by the need for such heavy precautions. “I had not considered that.”

“We did. Part of our job.”

“And those women?”

“Iqbal promised you an orgy. They’re the orgy. Just in case someone unfriendly is keeping tabs from in the lobby, or bribed one of the reception clerks. Everything has to look legit, so we don’t raise any alarms too soon.”

“You seem to have thought of everything.”

“Now is where we start to get more free form.”

“What do you mean? Who are you?”

Felix sensed that Mohr was becoming depressed. Here he is at last in American hands, and instead of bugle calls and parades it’s all so furtive and matter-of-fact. Parker and Salih told me to watch for this.

Felix wasn’t sympathetic. He had to stay suspicious of the guy. This meet could still be a setup. Felix needed to act a part, and he psyched himself up. Parker had told him bluntly to use the drama of the moment — the initial contact — to establish rapport in case Mohr was genuine.

“Allow me to introduce myself. Lieutenant Felix Estabo, U.S. Navy SEALs.” Felix shook hands with Mohr as warmly as he could, and gave him his most sincere, endearing smile. “You have no idea how much we and our government appreciate everything you’re doing, Klaus.” He used Mohr’s given name to speed their bonding. “Call me Felix, please.”

“Yes, all right, Felix.”

Felix introduced the members of his team, and Mohr shook hands all around.

“Let’s dig in. We need the sustenance. Klaus, why don’t you go first.”

Everyone loaded plates and grabbed hot coffee and started eating. The SEALs made sure to behave with