Istanbul Passage

colleagues. And in Greece he might be useful. The Greeks are fighting their own communists. He might have information he could sell to them-now that he’s not selling it to you. It’s true as you say, we can’t control the whole coast, so many places. But where would the boat be going? One of the islands, then Piraeus most likely. Then it’s my old friend Spiro’s problem.” He shook his head, pretending to be amused. “A man who works for the Germans and now for the Greeks-he must have something on everybody. Who better to find him?”

“Works for the Greeks how?”

“State security. I thought it best to alert them. If Jianu tries to cross the border-by road, train-we have him. But if he somehow manages it, the little boat, then Spiro. Personally, I hope he does. Let the Greeks have him.”

As Altan spoke, Leon saw the border guards checking cars at Edirne. There’d be photographs now, the Emniyet forced to supply them, pressured by the embassy. Conductors, ticket offices, a net flung over Turkey. Greeks waiting on the other side. Watching the docks at Piraeus. Passenger lists from Rhodes, Chios. Even assuming that could be arranged. He hadn’t imagined anything beyond a few hours’ drive, sleepy Edirne guards glancing at Enver Manyas’s new papers and waving them through. His chest tightened.

“There’s something wrong?” Altan was saying, peering at him.

“Just thinking. But the Greeks would hand him back.”

Altan sighed. “No doubt. The police here want him for murder. Why would the Greeks protect him? So, back. But then neither of you get him. We do.”

“Melnikov wouldn’t like that.”

“Neither would your Mr. Bishop. And who’s in the middle?” He looked at Leon. “Much better, you know, if one of you do find him. The police? They’d put him on trial and that is a trial no one will want to have. Consider the testimony. What it might be.”

“But if we found him, we couldn’t get him out now. Past your blocks.”

Altan nodded. “You would have to consider an alternative solution,” he said smoothly, polite conversation, only his eyes hard, making the point.

Leon stared back. “We don’t do things that way.”

Altan raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

“Melnikov would, though,” Leon said. “If he finds him, your problems are over.”

“But he won’t find him.”

“Why not?”

“He has no idea what to do. A simple man. It makes no sense to him. So he looks to Emniyet to do it.”

“That’s why the chat?”

“He’s disappointed. Impossible for a man to disappear. We must be working for the Americans. And so on,” he said, idly waving his hand. “It’s always a question of blame with them. It’s the way they think. No human factor.”

Leon looked at him, waiting.

“You don’t find it’s usually the case?” Altan said. “There’s a logic and then someone upsets it. Why? A personal motive. Why did Jianu run? Why does someone help? To sell him? Old comrades, a loyalty? Something else. So you look for that. Melnikov doesn’t. Things are this way. If not? A correction is needed, someone at fault. You talk to him, you see his character. A great believer in the rational.” He shrugged. “But look how they live. They kill their own people-that makes sense to them. Better to bend a little.” His lips turned up. “The Ottoman way. So we’ve promised to do our best.”

“This what you wanted to tell me?”

“Not tell. Just to talk. Get to know your character. Not so easy as Melnikov.” He took a card from his breast pocket. “And to give you this. You can reach me at this number if you need to meet. Not at the consulate. Melnikov would hear-so quick to take offense. Somewhere neutral. A hotel. A social gathering. Like this.”

“Why would we need to meet like that?”

“Mr. Bauer, we are working together. If you do find him, you will need our help.”

“To kill him?”

“To get him out. I thought that was the alternative you preferred. So, a cooperation. Of course, if Melnikov gets him, or Spiro, then my hands are tied. You will keep me informed? Your progress?”

“I thought you already knew everything that happens at the consulate.”

“Not everything.” Altan smiled. “You have a suspicious nature. Maybe Mr. Bishop was right in his choice.” He nodded. “Use your home telephone, please. We may not be the only ones with ears at your consulate.”

Leon stood for a few minutes looking down at the card, the noise of the party rising and falling at his back. A direct line to the Emniyet, something that would have seemed surreal a few days ago. He thought of the meeting he and Anna had had with the Gestapo before she had been allowed to leave, the usual summons to Prinz-Albrecht- Strasse, just a formality, all the exit papers in order, but his throat catching the whole time, feeling the sweat under his armpits. Now suddenly on that side of the desk, part of Ataturk’s secret army. Working together. You will keep me informed?

He put the card back in his pocket, staring at the night garden, the main axis outlined with flickering candle lanterns, but the other paths dark. You had to squint to see them. He replayed the conversation to see how Altan had steered it, but it began to overlap with Melnikov’s. We will find him. But he won’t find him. Frank somewhere in the background too, all of them flailing, like the people in the water when the Bratianu sank, all reaching for him, he could see the hands outstretched, strong enough to pull him under. Protect yourself. Listen to what mattered: the border was being watched and the Greeks were waiting. Not Edirne. A new plan.

“Leon, it’s too rude. Hiding out here. You’re supposed to be meeting people.” Lily standing behind him, holding two glasses, champagne the color of her hair.

“They seem to be finding me,” he said, seeing Altan talking by the fountain.

“Yes,” Lily said, following his look. “What’s he like? Halit brought him. Old friends, apparently, I don’t know how.”

“Friendly,” Leon said, taking the glass she held out to him. “A big improvement on your Russian anyway.”

“So everyone says. I think one time only for him, it’s enough. We’ll have to find another Russian. Some charge d’affaires who doesn’t frighten people. So, my old friend,” she said, shifting her voice lower and taking a sip. “What are you going to do now?”

A question that seemed part of the conversation in his head. “I don’t know,” he said to the air.

“You don’t know?”

He looked out at the lanterns. Extra men at the border. “No,” he said, then turned, realizing she meant something else, her eye to the dining room.

“She’s talking to Ozmen from Hurriyet. You know what that means. She says one thing and he prints another and your consul’s in a rage. Why did you say that? I was misquoted. It’s always the same.”

“The society column? The consul won’t even notice.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Lily said, holding up a finger. “The front page, maybe not. But everyone reads Ozmen.”

“I guess,” Leon said, drinking. “All right.”

“No, don’t go. A minute. I never see you. Anyway, the damage is done.”

“And maybe she’s more careful than you think.”

“Ooh la. With Ozmen. So tell me,” she said, lowering her voice again. “What don’t you know?”

“I was thinking before-the first time I came here. Spring. Remember? A long time ago.”

“Not so long.”

“Long enough. I don’t even look the same.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter for a man. They look-how they look. For women, it’s something else.” She reached up, grazing her fingers over his temple. “Some gray, but the same. I remember. So curious, both of you. So many questions. With Georg. He said you had good manners. For an American.”

Leon smiled.

“A compliment, from him,” Lily said. “Only the Germans had manners. And music. Kultur. I think he still believes that, even after everything. Anyway, men don’t get old,” she said, moving on. “So it’s not that. Some other trouble. I know you a little. When you think I’m not looking, I see you’re worried. This new work maybe.”