“Safe, yes. In the right hands, maybe not so much.”
“Oo la,” Lily said. “And who do you nominate? You?” She turned to Kay. “Of course he knows everything about Istanbul. But no reputation is safe with that one.” A tease and a compliment to Georg, overweight and aging.
“Maybe I should offer myself to the highest bidder. Like the girl in
Leon could tell from the blank expressions that no one had really caught the reference, but Lily smiled anyway.
“Then you must choose Melnikov. A true pasha. He brought caviar. Imagine, in Istanbul, where no one can get it. For love or money. A whole tin.” A sly glance at Leon. No one brought gifts to parties like this.
“For a gracious hostess.”
“You must have some before they eat it all up,” Lily said to Kay.
“And me,” Georg said, offering Kay his arm. “Let’s have caviar.”
“Always gallant, when there’s food,” Lily said, taking her other arm. “Come, I’ll protect you. Besides, I want to show you off. Such a prize, a new woman.”
Leon looked at the room as they left. There were, in fact, only a few women, most of them European. In the old days they would have been in the other part of the house, having sherbet and coffee, watching the party through latticed grilles.
“You’re working with Bishop now,” Melnikov said, not bothering with small talk.
“News travels fast,” Leon said, off guard.
“Maybe that’s where you heard my name.”
“Maybe.”
“Or from Tommy King. Another friend of yours.”
Leon looked at him for a second. “Everybody knows everybody in Istanbul,” he said, glancing toward Lily.
“An old comrade. We met from time to time. During the war.”
“Ah,” Leon said, noncommittal. Those drinks at the Pera, more information exchanged than Frank imagined.
“To survive the war, then this.” He shrugged. “Now of course you want to find the man who did it.”
“Well, that’s a police matter. Naturally we hope-”
“I want to find him too,” he said, his voice low, almost a growl. “Georg has spoken to you about this.”
Leon looked at him carefully. “That was you? Offering the reward?”
“You worked for Tommy. A man for hire. Why not for me? Avenge your friend’s death. Perhaps you could use the money. In these difficult times.” He paused. “The man belongs to us.”
“And why would I turn him over to you? Assuming we found him.”
“Self-interest. The Americans want him. We want him more. So we’re willing to pay. Are they?”
“What makes you think-”
Melnikov waved this off. “You can put your flag away. A man like you.”
Leon felt a flash of heat on his face. “I don’t know where he is,” he said, keeping his voice even.
“But you will. Now that you’re inside. It’s a bet to make anyway. Whoever’s protecting him, it’s not a stranger. Someone who’s part of this business. You don’t know yet? Here’s an incentive for you, to find out. Enough money to take your wife back to America. It’s a reasonable offer.”
Leon stared at him. A hard face, lived-in, knowing eyes. Buying someone.
“Go to hell,” he said.
Melnikov said nothing for a minute, then looked away. “So. Then take a message. You know how to do that. Be a messenger.”
“What kind of message?”
“To whoever has him.”
“I don’t know-”
“It’s important,” Melnikov interrupted. “We are going to find our friend. And kill him.” He looked directly at Leon. “And his protector. If he would give him to us-a different situation. But if not, both are dead. Tell him that. We’ll kill both.”
Leon waited for a second, trying not to react. The chill of a death sentence, like a hand on your shoulder, the air still. Melnikov held his gaze, emotionless. How many had he already killed?
“Is that a paid message?”
Melnikov nodded. “If you like. And not as expensive for us.” He raised his eyebrows. “At first I thought it might be you. One of Tommy’s men. The question was, why? To bargain for Jianu? Get a better price? Then Bishop brings you in to help. Not a foolish man. So, not you. Now we only have to pay you for a message.”
“You won’t have to pay for anything.”
“Deliver it anyway,” Melnikov said, his voice thick. “To the one who helps. You might save a life.”
“From you? You’d kill him anyway. For the sport.”
Melnikov’s eyes clouded, as if he’d been offended, then darted over Leon’s shoulder. “Here’s Georg. Alone. He must have lost the bidding.”
Georg, champagne flute in hand, was plodding toward them, feet heavy, older.
“You enjoyed the caviar?” Melnikov said.
Georg put his fingers to his lips in a kiss.
“Then I’d better hurry before it’s gone,” Melnikov said.
“The guest eats his own present?” Leon said.
“I’m not so polite. A simple soldier. I was never taught these things.”
“Lily’s very grateful,” Georg said, evidently the point of the gift.
“An interesting conversation,” Melnikov said, nodding to Leon, a leave-taking.
“Yes? What about?” Georg said.
Melnikov ignored him, beginning to move away, then turning. “Mr. Bauer, if it is you-take the money.”
He started to walk again and Leon followed, his back to Georg.
“How about an answer? As a kind of down payment?”
Melnikov stopped. “And the question?”
“Why did your Romanian friend shoot Tommy? If Tommy was there to-”
“Yes,” Melnikov said, a movement to his lips, almost a smile. “How the Americans must want to know that.”
“Don’t you?”
“A speculation. Tommy found out.”
“What?”
“That his information is worthless. Something wasn’t right, so he became suspicious. He had a mind like that.”
“Tommy?”
Melnikov nodded. “A suspicious man.”
“Of you, maybe.”
“Me, certainly. That was his job. And now of Jianu. The minute Jianu sees this, Tommy’s dead. He’s a fantasist, Jianu, but good at protecting himself.”
“A fantasist. Of course, that’s exactly what you’d want us to think.”
“But you won’t. You’ll believe him. Whatever he says. A good thing for us, in fact. This has been discussed. Let the Americans have him-believe his lies.”
“But you want him back.”
“A question of discipline. In the end, more important. A man who betrays?” He shook his head. “He dies,” he said flatly. “And he will.”
“Still Stalingrad.”
Melnikov peered at him, not expecting this, but decided not to respond. “So, is that an answer?” he said, walking away.
“What was that about?” Georg said, apprehensive. “Such talk. What, Stalingrad?”
Leon turned to him. “He shot his own men. The ones the Nazis didn’t get.”
“For defeatism. Disloyalty to the Party.” An automatic response, then, avoiding Leon’s eyes, “He was a hero in the war.”
