Istanbul Express (15 page)

He rolled over, sat up, and watched as Sally poured a cup and walked to the bedside. “You were so late coming in last night, I decided to let you sleep.”

He nodded thanks, took a long sip, sighed at the pleasure of that first swallow. “I was at Daniel's. Pierre went with me.”

“I saw your note.” Her gaze was calm, resolute. “Jake, we have to talk.”

The set of her chin and the sound of her voice called his fuzzy mind to attention. “Can I finish this first cup?”

“Just sit and listen.” She took a breath, went on, “I know you said what you did because you love me and because you were worried. But you have to understand, I am who I am, just like you. I want you to live the life of adventure that you crave, but I have to be a part of it. Not waiting at home for you to return when it's over. I want to be there taking part
with
you.”

Jake finished his cup and watched as she took it from him, walked back and refilled it, then returned to sit and hand it over and say, “This is the only way it is going to work.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “I knew it before I opened my mouth two nights ago.”

“Let me finish. I have lived through too much and been on my own too long to ever be happy just sitting around, waiting for my man to come home.”

“I wouldn't ever want you to be that way,” he said, loving her.

She gave the mattress between them a muffled slap. “How am I supposed to argue with you if you keep agreeing with everything I say?”

“I don't want to argue with you,” Jake replied. “Not ever again.”

The resolute squaring of her chin softened a little, despite her best effort to keep it set. “You need me, Jake.”

“More than anything,” he agreed.

“I can be a big help to you.”

“I could not get through a single day without you,” he agreed.

The chin quivered, but this time with suppressed laughter. “And you love me. A lot.”

“More than life itself,” he agreed happily.

“So there won't be any more of this nonsense over where I go and what I do?”

“All the time,” Jake countered. “I can't love you like I do and stop worrying. I just have to squelch my desire to give orders.”

She flowed into him then, her arms welcoming, her gaze loving, her lips warm and tender. She kissed him, leaned back far enough to stroke his face, smile, and whisper, “Apology accepted,” before embracing him again.

Sally watched him dress from her place on the bed, a habit of old which had somehow been misplaced during the clamor of their new assignment. Jake raised his collar, slid the tie into place, repeated the thought:
Their
new assignment. He turned toward her and reveled in the half-smile which played over her lips. Such an incredible lady.

He pointed down at the scroll of maps strewn over their table. “What's all this?”

“Oh, something I heard yesterday.” She related her trip with Phyllis and the old couple's tale. “I had a lot of trouble even finding the place.”

“What's it called?”

“Kumdare.” She slid from the bed and walked over, her robe billowing about her. Jake straightened enough to watch
as she leaned down, her reddish-gold hair spilling upon the page. She set a finger down, said, “Here it is.”

He squinted to see an alien name perched upon a narrow spit of land. “Doesn't sound familiar.”

“They said it was a tiny village, just one road in and out.”

Jake knotted his tie, leaned over and tried to concentrate, but found it difficult with the closeness of her. He gave up, turned, and kissed her neck.

“Pay attention,” she ordered, but hugged his arm to keep him close.

“Doesn't ring any bells.”

“I know. But they were so insistent that the Americans were paying for this construction project.”

“Kumdare,” he repeated, committing the name to memory. He studied the map again. The tiny village rested upon an empty elbow of land. The place appeared utterly isolated, situated at the other end of the Bosphorus, at the point where the strait opened into the Black Sea. “It's miles from anywhere.”

“I know.” She straightened and wrapped her arms around him. “There's not much time left, is there?”

“Less than two days,” he said as lightly as he could manage, not wanting the moment to end just yet. “According to what Fernwhistle said in the meeting, the dispatch should arrive sometime tomorrow.”

“I'm supposed to meet with Phyllis this morning. She's trying to set something up, I don't know what.”

“So it's Phyllis now, is it.”

Sally nodded, still distracted. “Jasmyn's already left for someplace called the Sophia Mosque, I think I've got that right. She's meeting the woman who took us through the palace.” She looked up at him. “If we find out anything, should we come by the consulate?”

Jake sighed and gave in as the pressures rose to surround him. “You can try. I don't know where I'll be.” He sketched
out what he had learned yesterday, including his meetings at the construction site and opposition headquarters.

Sally listened with increasing seriousness. “You have to watch out as well, Jake.”

“I know.”

“These people aren't going to just let you walk off with their fat little contracts.”

“I'll be careful, Sally.”

“Especially if they're pocketing part of the proceeds.” She started to wring her hands, looked down and saw what she was doing, searched for the pockets to her robe. “Promise me you won't do anything rash.”

“I've already arranged for backup,” he said, and explained about the Marine guards.

“Well, they won't do any good unless you take them along.” She reached for him again, a grip intensified with fear and love. “Go,” she whispered, “and come back safe.”

Jake entered his office and said to Daniel in greeting, “Ever heard of a place called Kumdare?”

Daniel froze, one hand deep inside the last of the unsorted boxes. “How did you know?”

The stance and the tone were all the warning Jake needed. Quietly he shut the outer door, walked over, spoke more quietly, “Know what?”

“One bill I have found, just one. And just this morning.” Daniel eased himself upright. “But already you have heard of it.”

“A rumor,” Jake said, and told him what Sally had learned.

Long wax-colored fingers rose to stroke his beard. “You think maybe this is the project our opponents wish to keep hidden?”

“I don't know. Maybe. You say there's a bill?”

“Just one. But the largest so far. A requisition, really, simply confirming that payment was required for work done up to . . .” Daniel searched through the clutter on his desk, came
up with a single hand-written invoice, finished, “. . . the beginning of last week. For a cultural center, or so it says here.”

“Have you ever heard of this place?”

“Never.” Daniel shook his head, his eyes not leaving Jake's face. “All my life I have lived and worked in Istanbul, and this village is unknown to me.”

“How are the roads outside Istanbul?”

“Very bad,” Daniel replied without hesitation. “And to the smaller villages, even worse.”

“Strange place to set up a center for anything,” Jake mused, then decided, “Go downstairs and see if you can set up a priority call to London. It's time I had another chat with Harry Grisholm.”

“Once, this great city was called Byzantium, a small Greek fishing village on a naturally protected outcrop of land. Then it became Constantinople, home to the last Roman emperors and center of the civilized world. Later came the Islamic invasion and the Ottoman Empire. Now it is a city clinging to the edge of Western civilization, an uneasy mix of cultures and histories.”

Jasmyn nodded and kept her face politely alert as they walked at a measured pace through the rubble-strewn parkland. Jana played the cheerful tour guide, one of many leading groups or individuals along the crowded lanes. “At its height, the palace begun by Constantine had five hundred public halls and thirty chapels. All that is left now is this ragged garden, these crumbling walls and pillars, and these fading mosaics set in what is now a field of rubble.”

They crossed the grand square and walked toward the Sophia Mosque, joining a throng of chattering pilgrims. As they climbed the stairs, Jasmyn followed Jana's example and tied a kerchief about her head. Inside, the great dome seemed almost translucent, with decorations as delicate as a painting upon porcelain. The grand expanse of floor was cushioned
by multiple layers of carpets. The light was filtered and gentle and as still as the dust which drifted in the air.

“The Church of Aga Sophia was originally built fifteen hundred years ago by the Emperor Justinian.” Jana examined the younger woman and asked, “You are Christian, yes?”

“I am.”

“Does it trouble you to see that such ancient churches are now mosques?”

“A little.” Jasmyn reined in her impatience and looked to where a giant mosaic of Mary and the Christ child decorated one wall of the upper balcony. The walls around it were scarred by what appeared from that distance to be sword thrusts, as though ancient warriors had scraped off all but that one lonely mosaic. To either side, towering pillars supported great black shields twice the height of a man, upon which were emblazoned Arabic script in fiery gold. Directly overhead, the great dome seemed to hover in space. “At least the structure is still here.”

“Indeed so. This mighty building has survived lootings, wars, and earthquakes. In fact, it is built upon the foundations of a church erected two hundred years earlier by Constantine himself. That church was destroyed by a fire.” Jana pointed about at other mosaics, half-figures whose faces had been left while their bodies were destroyed, prophets reaching out across the centuries, and scarred images of the risen Christ. “There were great arguments about these, as Islam forbids the making of images. But any which were somewhat hidden, like those in the upper balconies, and all that depicted prophets shared by both Islam and Christianity were permitted to remain.”

Jana led Jasmyn toward the front, saying, “When the church was converted to a mosque, fragments of the Byzantine furnishings were kept and used.” She pointed to the pulpit, the entrance adorned with a velvet drape embossed with Arabic script. “That pulpit, for example, is twelve hundred years old. And these carpets cover a vast array of Byzantine mosaics.”

Jasmyn took a deep breath of air laden with dusty age and asked quietly, “Are we being followed?”

“I cannot say for certain,” Jana said, and smiled brightly as she pointed out one of the great black shields. “But I fear so.”

Jasmyn nodded and tried to hold her attention where the tour guide directed. “Why are we here?”

“Are you aware of a village called Kumdare?”

Jasmyn started at the word, recalling her conversation with Sally the night before. “Why do you ask?”

Jana threw her a shrewd glance before returning her attention to the gold-encrusted dome. “It is good to be cautious with strangers such as myself. Kumdare is the name of a village on the Asiatic coast. The Americans are supposed to be building there. For some reason, the Russians have taken great interest in this project.” She dropped her arm, turned, and smiled with false animation. “Whatever it is that you seek, it appears that you may find the answer there. Only take care. The Russians will do anything to protect their secrets.”

“Jake!” Harry Grisholm's cheery tone rose above the telephone's crackling static. “How nice to hear from you. How are you, my boy?”

“Well as can be expected,” Jake shouted back. “When are you arriving?”

“I still cannot say for certain, but I am pushing hard as possible for sometime early next week.”

“No good.” Jake gave a succinct version of the pressures he faced, then stopped and listened to the static. “Harry?”

“I'm still here, my boy.” For once the almost constant cheeriness had failed him. “It sounds as though they have us both over the diplomatic barrel.”

“Sure looks that way to me,” Jake agreed. “Have you ever heard of some project we're supposed to be financing at Kumdare?”

A second silence ensued, cut off by Harry saying, “Now
that you mention it, something about a cultural center. Do I recall correctly?”

“That's what I have here,” Jake called back. “But why—”

“Absolutely unimportant,” Harry cut him off. “What is
extremely vital
is that you keep a
watchful eye
. Are you reading me, Jake?”

“I'm not sure,” he said, scrambling to locate a pen and paper. “You're saying this center at Kumdare—”

“Is totally insignificant.” Even the crackling line could not disguise the sudden tension in Harry's voice. “You recall our previous conversation, my boy?”