Hawn had unfolded the note in his pocket. ‘Salacak Iskelesi — it’s written here, and it was written up at the end of the jetty.’
‘That dolmus should be back soon. Can’t we take it to the main port?’
Hawn paused. ‘This whole thing could be a set-up. Or a test to find out if we’ll go through with it or not — and perhaps to see if we’re followed.’
‘Do you think we’ve been followed?’ she said; and they both glanced down at the man on the floor.
‘As I told you, I haven’t spotted anyone all day. But that’s only because I’ve been looking out for Westerners. I just assumed they wouldn’t use a Turk. Because I was assuming that they were ABCO people.’
‘But who else would follow us? Salak’s men?’
Hawn cut her short with a quick gesture, got up, went to the door and stared out at the spears of rain, returned to the table and swallowed the rest of his raki. ‘If only there was somewhere else we could wait. It’s like being in a rabbit-hutch, waiting for the snakes.’
At that moment they heard the clatter of a very old diesel motor. He sprang back to the door and saw the headlamps of a car swinging into the square. It was the dolmus. It drew up outside the cafe with a great splash, and the driver came in, wearing leggings and a dripping leather jacket. He shouted something, and the proprietor hurried from the back, stepping over the drunk, and handed the driver a glass of brandy.
Hawn stood up and began to negotiate.
The driver said he was finished for the night and demanded an exorbitant sum to drive them to the Usküdar port. Hawn was in no mood to argue about money. When he agreed to the sum, the man looked faintly disappointed, even contemptuous, as though he had challenged Hawn to an honourable contest and had been rebuffed.
Hawn paid for the rakis and they left. The drunk had not moved. Five minutes later they arrived at a well-lit square which led to the port, where there were already several boats waiting. One of them was the ferry for Istanbul.
Here, again, they saw no one who was obviously suspicious; a few minutes later the engine started. Hawn was relieved; it was not every day that he embarked on a blind date in a strange city, carrying the equivalent of nearly five thousand pounds in his pocket.
Despite the crowd of passengers and the persistent rain, they somehow managed to get a taxi outside the Galata landing-stage, and ten minutes later were back at the Pera Palace Hotel.
They had both had several strong drinks during the crossing, and Hawn was now inspired with a sense of reckless release, as well as an angry determination which was reinforced on learning that there were no messages at the desk.
They were both very wet, and Anna was for going up and having a bath and changing; but Hawn said, ‘I want to get this thing sorted out — tonight. Right now. If Effendi Salak Esquire wants to play games with us, I want to know why.’
He knew that Salak had contacts in the hotel, but decided that things had now gone too far for it to be worthwhile being cautious or cunning. He asked the receptionist for a list of chemist shops in the Kumkapi district.
The clerk returned a moment later, showing no interest or surprise. There was an all-night pharmacy on the Ordu Caddesi, near Beyazit; and another in the heart of Kumkapi, at 13 Türkeli Caddesi. It was clear from the map, and the maze of streets in the Kumkapi area, that the latter must be the one. He asked the clerk what time the shop closed.
‘Ten o’clock, sir.’
It was now 9.35. Hawn said, ‘Get us a car — immediately. And I’ll pay the driver double if he gets us to the Türkeli Caddesi by ten.’
The clerk looked doubtful. He lifted a phone, murmured something, and hung up. ‘The car will be here at once, sir. But I do not guarantee that you will reach the Türkeli Caddesi by ten o’clock.’
‘I don’t know quite what we’re trying to achieve,’ Anna said, as they waited by the entrance. ‘And even if we make it, we don’t know that Salak will be there. Why don’t we leave it until tomorrow, when we’ll have more time? Why tonight?’
‘Because I’m in the mood tonight.’
The driver was one they had not seen before — a smart young man driving a brand-new BMW. He made no comment when Hawn gave the address and spelt out the conditions; but as soon as they had pulled from the curb, Hawn knew that they had an excellent driver.
The traffic had thinned and the rain had almost stopped now. For the first ten minutes they made good time, as far as the Atatürk Bridge, dominated by the grim, green bronze statue of the founder of modern Turkey. And when they turned off the Atatürk Boulevard, they still had twelve minutes in hand.
Next they plunged into the narrow crowded labyrinth of Kumkapi, the horn bellowing impotently at the wobbling rumps of overladen mules and fat sauntering women with great loads on their heads. For several minutes they were stuck without moving at all. Hawn sat with his hands pressed together, his heart pounding with an enervated rage directed half at the impoverished crowds outside, half at that great granite-faced gangster, Imin Salak.
But an even more powerful emotion was one of compelling curiosity. Why should a mature old brigand like Salak turn his broken nose up at a quarter of a million lire? For it was quite possible that if his influence in the city was as wide as he claimed, he might well have heard that Hawn had drawn the money that
