Istanbul Passage

happened.

“No,” he said, as if they were having a conversation, then “no” again, this time to himself.

He ducked under. The lights, so bright above the surface, stopped after a few inches, everything black. But he couldn’t have gone far, a few feet. Leon dived down, then started back up where Alexei had gone under, reaching for anything, hands stretched out, water running through his fingers. He broke the surface, gulping. Nothing.

“Leon!” Mihai shouting from above.

He dived again, deeper this time, hearing a motor now, the boat closer. He moved his arms, sweeping across the space in front of him. Water. Then a piece of something, cloth, not seaweed. He snatched at it, using it to pull himself closer, then brought up his other hand, more cloth, a jacket, holding it now with both hands, kicking, pushing them up. When they hit the air, Alexei started coughing, too weak now to fight back when Leon grabbed his collar from behind. The boat light swept in an arc, followed by a sudden shot, Leon not sure whether to duck again, a helpless target.

“Stay where you are,” a loudspeaker said in Turkish, evidently a warning shot, fired when they disappeared. More yelling from the deck.

“Let me go,” Alexei said, barely audible.

“Hang on. I’ve got you,” Leon said, ignoring this, holding him up.

Alexei stared at him, eyes suddenly wide, undefended, taking him in as if Leon were the last thing he would ever see. “Why?”

“Almost there,” Leon said, reaching for the lifesaver.

Alexei coughed, choking on some water. “I’m tired.”

“Almost there,” Leon said again.

“No, tired. It’s enough.”

Leon glanced over. Alexei’s head had begun to loll. How much blood had he lost?

“Not yet,” he said, “I need you,” Alexei looking up at this.

A rope hit the water near them, more lights.

“Grab hold!”

Leon looked at it, winded, still holding Alexei. A second to get his strength back.

“Move!” Another shot fired into the air, like a whip cracking, then sharp cries from the ship, oddly like dogs.

“Tell him to go to hell,” Alexei said, barely lifting his head.

“You can’t stay in the water. We’ll freeze.”

“I don’t feel it.”

“That’s worse. You should.”

“Yes?” Alexei said, looking up. “Ah.”

He took Leon’s hand, smiling faintly, an awkward clutching, not a shake, not expecting to be towed by it, just making contact. Leon looked back, surprised, a camera shutter opening, seeing him now, the kid in the street, just a glimpse before he could run away again.

“All right,” Alexei said, nodding, his eyes going to the boat. “It’s your move.” His voice faint, running out of air, part of the quiet that was filling Leon’s head, the clock finally stopping, at an end.

Gulun’s boat was rocking nearby, the motor still churning, policemen shouting and pointing to the rope, all distant noises, background sounds where the ticking had been. There was no next move, just an automatic reach for the lifesaver, then a hook to drag them in, check. And the Victorei in Gulun’s hands, all the anxious people on deck pawns again. His idea, somewhere they’d never look.

“Take the rope!”

Leon saw it floating on the surface, a lifeline, a noose. Your move.

The boat ran its siren again, a screaming alarm, loud enough to fill the quiet in Leon’s head, a rush of prickly feeling in his numb hands. No, not the siren, a different horn, behind them, a new light flashing over the water. Leon glanced around, trying to make out the shape past the blinding light. Smaller than the police boat, gunwales of polished wood, the kind of boat you saw tied up in front of a yali, fast just for the pleasure of it. Bearing down on them now with another siren whoop. A shot was fired from the police boat, presumably into the air, like a sentry. A loudspeaker crackled.

“Hold your fire! Idiot!”

The speedboat on them now, fishtailing to idle next to Gulun’s, like a skier at the end of a run.

“Are you crazy? Shooting at me?” Altan, furious.

There was an exchange Leon couldn’t hear over the sputtering engines, then another ring thrown to him, this one from the speedboat. More yelling between the boats, Altan taking over. In the lights, Leon could see Gulun’s face, flustered and petulant.

“And them?” he said, jerking a thumb back to the Victorei.

“Let them go,” Leon said, close to the side now. “They didn’t-”

“You, my friend, are in no position to ask for anything,” Altan said. “Hold on to that. Get them into the boat,” he said to someone on board.

“No,” Alexei said suddenly. “When we see the ship leave.”

Altan blinked, stopped by this. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’ll freeze.”

“Then hurry,” Alexei said, eyes level, as if Altan were the fisherman, someone else to stare down. He turned to Leon. “It’s what you want, yes?”

Leon nodded.

“So.”

Altan, annoyed, yelled across to Gulun, then turned back to them. “He says his men are already off the boat. Get in.”

“Then signal it to leave. You came for me? So there’s the price. Or I take this one with me.” Fierce, no indication at all that it was Leon supporting him, a bluff as smooth as a swimmer’s stroke.

Altan stood still for a second, stymied.

“They don’t pay for me,” Alexei said, jaw clenched against the cold. “Signal.”

Altan turned toward Gulun’s boat. Another exchange, argumentative, then a bark in Altan’s voice, giving orders, Gulun’s shoulders rearing back then sagging. Leon felt the water lapping at his chin, waiting, feet no longer there, just part of the cold. A series of lights flashed up to the Victorei, followed by a policeman shouting into the loudspeaker. A second’s lag for the translation, then a roar of voices from the ship, the sound of a goal scored. Leon saw people slapping Mihai on the back as he stood frowning, staring down at Leon, not sure what to do. Leon lifted his hand a little and waved him off. There was a shuddering grind in the engines as the boat started up again. More cheers. Now Mihai waved back, barely raising his hand, still troubled, leaving someone behind.

“Get in,” Altan said, nodding to the rope.

“When it leaves,” Alexei said, still making his improbable bargain.

The ship had begun to slide away, its wake lifting the smaller boats.

He turned to Leon. “It’s all right?”

Leon looked at him, a wordless thank-you, more, trying to see behind his eyes again.

“Always something for the Jews with you,” Alexei said, trying to be wry, closing the shutter, but his voice trailed off, his eyes drooping.

Leon shook him, wetting Alexei’s face to see the eyes open again, someone trying to nap, then paddled with one arm to Altan’s life preserver. A long pole with a hook snagged the ring and started pulling them. Then there were hands lifting them up, Alexei not letting go of Leon until he was pried away, both of them wrapped in blankets. It was only then, with the first hint of warmth, that Leon started shivering.

“He’s bleeding. They shot him.”

“I can see that,” Altan said, motioning for one of his men to look at the wound. He shouted something to Gulun who then ordered the police boat to pull away. “He’s disappointed,” Altan said to Leon. “Such good work too.” Gulun, sullen, was saluting.

Behind the police boat, the Victorei was becoming a string of lights on the Marmara. Tommy’s money and the butcher’s price, whatever it took. Leon pulled the blanket tighter.

“He’s out,” one of Altan’s men said, holding Alexei.