Istanbul Express (5 page)

“Just yesterday I had the deputy prime minister and the mayor of Istanbul both in here together,” Fernwhistle told him, “demanding to know when I was going to release the
apportionment. I simply must have immediate access to these funds.”

“And you will,” Jake replied steadily, “just as soon as I've had a chance to get my feet on the ground.”

“Absolutely out of the question,” Fernwhistle snapped. “This entire situation is preposterous. You were intended to answer not to me, nor to the consul general, but rather directly to this Mr. Grisholm, whoever he is. A man nobody knows, stationed five hundred miles away in Ankara, given direct responsibility for a staff member of this consulate.” Fernwhistle snorted his derision. “A ridiculous arrangement. Now this Grisholm character is not even in the country. And his associate arrives here with no idea whatsoever of the pressures we are facing, then insists that the consulate set aside a thousand urgent issues just to bring him up to speed.”

“Not the consulate,” Jake replied, grimly holding on to his temper. “Just one person. If this is so all-fired important, somebody is bound to be able to spare me a little time.”

“It would not be a
little
anything. This situation is vastly complicated. I have been here almost a year now, and I am just beginning to unravel the complexities.” Again there was the faint glimmer of satisfaction. “I therefore insist that responsibility for these funds must pass from your hands to the consul general and from him to me.”

“Insist anything you like,” Jake replied evenly. “But until I hear something to the contrary from Harry Grisholm himself, things stand as they are.”

“Out of the question! There is absolutely no way this absurd arrangement can be permitted to continue one moment longer. We simply must organize a proper chain of command.” Fernwhistle opened the second folder and slid a typed document toward Jake. “Sign this, please.”

Jake took in the embossed seal of the United States, read the heading, “Protocol of Authority,” then looked up and asked, “What is this?”

“It simply confirms what I have been saying,” Fernwhistle
replied primly. “You are hereby granting me the authority to sign over whatever funds I deem are correct to the authorities in charge of the various projects.”

Jake had to laugh. “You've sure got nerve, I'll grant you that.”

Fernwhistle popped up like a marionette. “Now you look here, Burnes—”

“No.” Jake heard the danger bells go off in his head. He rose to his feet, announced, “This meeting is over.”

“The consul general will hear about this!”

“He sure will,” Jake said, heading for the door.

“I assure you, Consul General Knowles will not look kindly upon your hindering this
crucial
work.” Fernwhistle fairly danced out from behind his desk. He followed Jake toward the door with arms flapping, looking like an overgrown crane in a tailored gray suit. “If you stand in the way of this work, you'll be sent packing as fast as Gramble was.”

Jake turned back and said as mildly as his ire would permit, “Seems to me, bub, the only one standing in the way of getting things done is you.” He opened the door, said as an afterthought, “Now, why don't you just pack up all those papers and go find somebody who can start clarifying the situation.”

He slammed the door behind him, took a fuming pair of steps, found himself almost colliding with the roly-poly figure of Ahmet, who announced, “Is already found.”

Jake squinted down at the fat little man. “Say what?”

“The assistant to help with matters and understandings,” Ahmet said with a beam. “Is waiting in your office.”

“I'll just bet,” Jake said, motioning with his chin for Ahmet to lead the way.

They went down one flight of stairs, passed along a broad corridor, and stopped at a doorway set within a narrow alcove. Ahmet opened the door with a flourish. “Is young Selim, at your service.”

Jake entered a windowless chamber hardly larger than a
broom closet. He nodded at the young man standing in the center of the chamber, then took in the dingy walls, the metal desk and matching filing cabinet, the pair of wooden chairs with peeling varnish, the utter lack of decoration. “They spared no expense, I see.”

“Oh, is only outer office. Your office is through here.” Ahmet bustled forward, opened the inner portal, motioned Jake through. “Please, please.”

“The excitement can wait awhile,” Jake decided, turning back to the young man. “Your name is Selim. Do I have that right?”

“Is Selim, yes, sir.” He was as slender as Ahmet was rotund, with delicate olive features and expressive dark eyes. He stood confidently in an oversized suit jacket, mismatched trousers, and a white shirt without a tie.

Jake eased onto the corner of the desk and motioned Selim toward the nearest chair. “Take a seat, why don't you?”

“Is most kind.” Selim slouched down, extended his legs, reached into his coat pocket, drew out a cigarette and lit it. “Can start with work tomorrow,” he announced with the smoke.

Jake propped one arm across his chest, placed the other up at his chin and tugged down the corners of his mouth. “Is that so?”

“Indeed, yes.” Another puff, then, “Have made much sacrifice to present self at proper appointed time.”

“I should be eternally grateful,” Jake managed. “Maybe even offer you a couple of free days straight off so you can get yourself settled.”

The dark head nodded thoughtfully. “With pay, of course.”

Jake coughed discreetly. The shirkers he had known in the army had nothing on this guy. “So how much accounting do you know?”

The delicate brow furrowed. “Please?”

“You know, like how to balance books.”

The hand and cigarette waved carelessly. “Books weigh different amounts, yes? Is need to balance?”

“You've got a point,” Jake agreed thoughtfully. “Typing, shorthand?”

“Oh no,” Selim replied, extending his arms proudly. “Hands very long.”

“Perfect.” Jake slid from his desk. “I'm sorry my wife wasn't here to meet you, Selim.”

“Perhaps with time,” the young man replied, rising languidly.

“You bet.” Jake motioned toward the outer door. “Wait outside for a second, will you? I want to have a word with Ahmet here.” When the door had closed behind the young man, Jake demanded, “Whose idea was this, anyway?”

“Fernwhistle, he say find you assistant,” Ahmet declared proudly. “I find.”

“Figures. You don't happen to know when the consul general is due back, do you?”

“Day after tomorrow,” Ahmet replied promptly. “Selim is good boy, yes?”

“A great kid,” Jake affirmed. “But he's not going to cut the mustard in this office.”

The round forehead grew creases. “Please?”

“I want you to find me some alternatives,” Jake said. “Put an ad in the paper, run a flyer, whatever you do around here. I want an assistant, male or female, who speaks fluent English, types, and has an accounting background. Shorthand is optional.”

The creases deepened. “You no like Selim?”

Jake let a little of the edge he had been hiding come to the surface. “Did you get what I just said?”

“English, type, accounts,” Ahmet replied, his traditional smile slipping a notch. “Will be most difficult, Meester Jake.”

“Just put the word out, will you?” Jake said, turning for the door. “I'm going to see if I can find what they've done with my wife.”

Chapter Four

They had been put up at the Pera Palace, a grand European-styled structure whose central lobby rose all the way to the six-story roof. Hand-wrought iron balustrades lined each of the inner halls, with carpets and matching drapes to muffle sound and add to the ancient feel. The creaking mahogany elevator was open and clanking and slow as molasses.

Jake scarcely had time to enter the room, hug Sally, and take in the lofty ceiling and overstuffed furniture and grand four-poster bed before there was a knock on the door. He opened it and took a step back at the sight of Jasmyn in an evening gown, her green eyes unreadable. Behind her, Pierre stood in formal dress whites, his features folded into an enormous scowl. Sally stepped up beside Jake. “What on earth?”

Pierre asked, “Can we interest you in attending a formal reception? It is being hosted here in the hotel by the Norwegian consulate.”

“Swedish,” Jasmyn corrected.

“Norway, Sweden, what difference could it make?”

“You've got to be kidding,” Jake said, ushering them in.

“I wish that I was.” Pierre stepped into the room, said, “You are now looking at the new deputy military attaché to the French consulate.”

“I thought you were supposed to be working with me.”

“It appears the consul general had other ideas,” Pierre replied.

“They had an argument,” Jasmyn announced.

Sally asked, “You were there?”

Jasmyn shook her head. “I was waiting in Pierre's office.”

“Which was on another floor,” Pierre added, “at the opposite end of the building.”

“Well, that beats my tale,” Jake said. “I didn't have the guts to lose my temper.”

Pierre eyed his friend. “You, too?”

Jake nodded. “You get the impression we're being railroaded?”

“All I can say for certain,” Pierre said carefully, “is that the consular staff seem extremely concerned to keep me as busy doing nothing as they possibly can. Already I am assigned to attend conferences and receptions every day this week and the next.”

Before Jake could respond, there was another knock at the door. Sally walked over, opened it, said, “Yes?”

A rich voice said, “I was wondering if a Colonel Burnes might be available.”

“We need to be going,” Pierre said.

“Stick around,” Jake pleaded. “This may be my chance to make up for my poor showing back at the consulate.”

An older gentleman entered the room. His appearance was grandfatherly, his gaze keen. “Colonel Burnes? I'm Tom Knowles.”

Jake stiffened. “The consul general?”

“That's right.” He motioned behind him and was joined by a tall corpulent man in a rumpled suit. “This is Barry Edders, my political analyst.”

“I thought you weren't back until the day after tomorrow.”

“We're not,” Edders agreed cheerfully. “He's not here, and we haven't met.”

“I needed to get to you before attention turned your way and the avenues were closed off.” He turned his steel-gray eyes toward Pierre. “You must be Major Servais.”

“At your service, m'sieur.” He motioned to Jasmyn. “My wife.”

“And this is Sally Burnes,” Jake added.

“Pleased to meet you.” The consul general gave a swift but cordial nod before returning his attention to Jake. “It's good I caught you both together. This may be our only chance to speak freely, at least for a while.” He glanced at his watch. “I'm afraid we don't have much time.”

“We don't have any time at all,” Edders agreed, his cheerfulness untouched by the consul general's serious tone. “Which doesn't matter, of course, since we're not really here.”

“Won't you gentlemen sit down?” Sally offered.

“Thank you. As Barry has just said, this meeting is not taking place. It is imperative that we seem to be at odds with you both, but I really must speak with you openly. So I have decided to risk using the Swedish consular reception downstairs as a smoke screen and come here. This may be our only chance.”

Jake motioned for everyone to find chairs, seated himself beside Sally on the sofa, and demanded, “Because we're not going to be around that long?”

“That may well be the case,” Knowles admitted. “Hard to say at this point, however. For the time being, you are here, and faced with a situation that is growing more difficult with every passing day. You are aware that the funds have begun to arrive from Washington?”

“I saw the transcript upstairs in Mr. Fernwhistle's office.”

“That was actually the third transfer. Ah, I see he failed to tell you that. No wonder. Yes, the first two arrived after the former consul general departed and prior to my own arrival. Acting on authority passed down by a very harried DCM in Ankara, Fernwhistle took it upon himself to dispense the initial funds.”

“DCM stands for Deputy Chief of Mission in diplomatese,” Barry explained easily, slouched far down in his chair. He seemed content to sit and chat all night. Whatever tension the others might be feeling did not faze him in the least. “He's number two at the embassy in Ankara. Whenever the ambassador is away, the DCM rules the roost.”

“Precisely,” Knowles agreed. “But with this initial disbursement, Fernwhistle found himself possessing power and influence on a breathtaking scale, something rarely experienced by a diplomat at his level.”

Pierre demanded, “What about bribes, kickbacks?”

“Not Fernwhistle,” the consul general replied definitely. “I've worked with him before, and I know him to be an honest diplomat, quite diligent in his own somewhat limited way.”

“Not enough imagination,” Barry agreed easily. “He's so clean he squeaks. Now if it were me in that situation—”

“Which it is not and never will be,” Knowles responded, his eyes never leaving Jake. “But there is more to this than just some second-tier Foreign Service official out for his own taste of glory.”

“I sort of figured that,” Jake said quietly.

“Of course you did. There are actually two battles going on. Fernwhistle is the tip of one iceberg, which is the struggle over who is going to control this outlay of funds. State Department wants it, as does the Pentagon, not to mention the fact that numerous White House officials are weighing in personally. You are simply facing the field skirmish in a vicious turf war back in Washington.” He glanced at Pierre, added, “I fear you shall face much the same difficulty from your own officials, Major.”