Istanbul Express (6 page)

“I already have,” Pierre replied.

“Sorry to hear that.” He turned back to Jake. “For the moment, because of the Soviet Union's interest in Turkey, the military has been assigned equal status, which of course is why you are here. And which brings up the second battle.” Knowles leaned back, lines of weariness suddenly appearing about his mouth and eyes. “Why don't you take over, Barry.”

“Right.” The political officer made a futile attempt at straightening the lapels of his jacket and began, “You're aware of the struggle to get the United Nations up and running?”

“As much as the next guy, I guess.”

“In that crisis you can see a concentration of everything we're facing here. On the one hand, we're trying to deal with the Russians as allies and let them have a hand in the UN and everything else that has resulted from our victory. On the other, we're being forced to accept that Stalin's Russia is just about the biggest threat our nation has ever faced. And
Russia's been trying to get its hands on Turkey for centuries.” Despite the bleakness of his news, the buoyant attitude never slipped a notch. “I guarantee you, Colonel, you'll never come across a more confounded mess in all your born days.”

“Call me Jake.”

“Right. There's no clear-cut agreement on this problem, not by the boyos sitting in their comfy offices back in Washington. Of course, everybody who's been up close to the front lines agrees that the Soviets are a menace and that they're on the march. But actual evidence is hard to come by. On the surface, these Russkies are all bonhomie and back-slapping.”

“I've just experienced a little of that firsthand,” Jake said and described their meeting with Dimitri Kolonov.

“Yeah, that Dimitri is a piece of work. I've already gotten the word on him from a buddy back in Sofia. You'll find a lot of them like that, so slick you can't keep a grip on them with pliers and a noose. But mark my words, they're up to no good.”

“You think,” Knowles corrected.

“I know,” Barry insisted comfortably. “I just haven't managed to get my hands on the evidence to convince the rubber-stampers back in Washington.”

“Those are our superiors you are referring to,” Knowles chided, but there was no condemnation to his tone.

“Yeah, well, this meeting didn't ever take place, so I guess it really doesn't matter what I don't say.”

“Then what you need from me,” Jake said, “is help finding something to pin the Russians down with.”

“I heard about your escapade up in Berlin,” Barry acknowledged. “Sounded like quite a time was had by all. I told Tom here about it, and he decided to risk this meeting.”

“Officially we will have to be on opposite sides of the fence,” Knowles reiterated gravely. “At least unless or until State and Defense can iron out their differences.”

“Or until I'm replaced,” Jake interjected.

“Let us hope that does not happen, Colonel. I feel certain
we would work well together.” Knowles rose to his feet. “Unofficially, if there is anything you need, anything at all, I want you to discuss it with Barry. He will bring it up with me.”

“We're not allowed to talk with you,” Barry explained. “But everybody's sort of given me up as a lost cause. So long as you keep your visits down to a few minutes at a time and not too frequent, I can run interference for you.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

Knowles extended his hand. “Make no mistake, Colonel. Your work is absolutely vital to America's future interests in this part of the world. But sorting out the conflicts between politicians who still see the Russians as friends and those who see them as our single greatest enemy will take some time and a good deal more hard evidence. Remember, any number of senior officials back in Washington have built their careers upon the fact that Russia has been an important ally throughout the war. We must be patient and work together to convince them that times have changed, and changed drastically.”

Knowles's grip was as steady and strong as his gaze. “Mark my words. The confrontation in Berlin was not some isolated incident, but the herald of things to come.”

Chapter Five

The next day, Jake entered the consulate grounds to find a courtyard flooded with people. Ahmet greeted him at the door and announced with his great, beaming smile, “Is people wishing to apply for position of assistant, Meester Jake.”

Jake turned and looked back over the assembled throng. “All of them?”

“Ahmet do just what you say, Meester Jake, look high and low for good assistant.”

He looked doubtfully at the little man. “All of them have been vetted? They are all qualified?”

“Oh, most certainly yes, Meester Jake.” He took in the courtyard with a proud sweep of his arm. “These the best you find.” He dropped his arm, stepped closer, said more quietly, “Unless, of course, you are accepting Selim as assistant.”

“Out of the question,” Jake said, turning for the door. “I'll see them in my office. Have them come up one at a time.”

The line of applicants seemed endless. All had dark complexions and finely sculpted features, male and female alike. All spoke English in varying shades and disguises. Some used a grammar so convoluted Jake was positive they had learned it from an outdated book, without aid of a teacher. These applicants he treated with great respect, for there are few endeavors more difficult, or more indicative of determination and intelligence, than learning a new language alone. Yet none of them had any experience with accounting, and few could even type.

Some applicants had an accent so heavy they might as well have been speaking another tongue. Jake smiled his way through these interviews, asking a few polite questions, explaining carefully that he was under pressure to get up and running and so needed someone with an absolute and total
grasp of English. He was not sure they understood him any better than he did them.

Throughout the entire day, Ahmet remained in Jake's outer office. The obsequious man smoked so many of his foul cigarettes that every time Jake opened his door he was struck by a billowing cloud.

Halfway through the afternoon, the phone in Jake's office rang for the first time, startling him almost out of his seat. Tentatively he lifted the antiquated receiver, heard a series of pops and hisses and static squeals, said repeated hellos with increasing volume.

Suddenly through the static came a familiar voice. “Jake, is that you?”

“Harry?” He made frantic hand motions for Ahmet to usher out the next incoming applicant and to close the door. “Where are you?”

“London. Good grief, this line is awful. Can you hear me?”

“Barely.”

“Well, it will have to do. I've been trying to get through since yesterday. And that, mind you, with every ounce of political pressure I could bring to bear.”

Jake raised his voice, shouted, “When do you arrive?”

“That's the problem. I still don't know. I would swear that there are unseen forces at work here.”

Jake looked over at his now-closed door, said, “I can imagine.”

“Eh, what was that? You'll have to speak up, man.”

“There have been developments here too,” Jake said.

“No doubt. Kolonov has introduced himself?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“You got my message then. Good. I assume I do not need to discuss with you the matter of security.”

“Or trust.”

“Exactly. You may assume that every wall has ears, and there are a dozen listeners to every spoken word.”

Including the present conversation, Jake understood. “I sure could use a friend close at hand.”

“I shall arrive at the soonest possible opportunity, I assure you. In the meantime, there is always the chance of our turning this situation to our advantage and learning what we can.”

“I'm afraid I'm in over my head,” Jake confessed, this time not caring who heard.

“Nonsense.” Harry Grisholm's confidence managed to pass over the crackling line. “There is no one else I would rather have watching out for our interests, Jake.”

“Shows how misguided even the experts can be,” Jake said, but found himself smiling in spite of himself.

“Look for allies in unexpected places, that's my advice. You always were one for landing on your feet. I count on you to do nothing less there in Istanbul.”

“A few allies,” Jake said, “would be a welcome addition.”

“Go beyond the normal routine, then. Examine avenues which are overlooked by the ones wearing blinders.”

“Hard to find those avenues,” Jake replied, “when I can't even read the street signs.”

“A joke. Good. I like that.” The exuberance refused to be contained by the static-filled line. “Now as to the funds.”

“The third allocation arrived yesterday,” Jake said, glancing over to the closed folder. So many zeros. “It boggles the mind, Harry.”

“Our job is to make sure it is money well spent. If you are not satisfied about anything, then wait. Delay payment. Demand better details. Ask questions. Inspect in person. We must be sure that these initial actions follow correct procedures.”

“Easier said than done.”

“You are experiencing pressure?”

“From all sides.”

“And I am not there to protect your back.” A somber briskness pressed on. “Well, it simply cannot be helped. You must be strong, my friend. And stubborn.” The line faded
away entirely, then came back with a shouted, “Jake? Are you there?”

“Still here,” he yelled.

“I am losing you. Take care, my friend. I shall join you as soon as I can. And remember—” But the line chose that moment to go dead.

Slowly Jake replaced the receiver, feeling more isolated and distant from protected waters than at any time since the war.

By six o'clock his head felt as if it were full of used chewing gum, and he was no closer to finding an assistant. Wearily he smiled and shook another hand and ushered another applicant out. He leaned on the doorpost and said, “I'm positive I asked for someone with accounting experience.”

“Was no good, Meester Jake?”

Jake looked down at Ahmet's beaming face and the oily strands of hair plastered down tight over the gleaming skull. “Mr. Burnes, Jake, Colonel, Colonel Burnes. All of them are fine. This Meester Jake business has got to go.”

Ahmet nodded, all smiles. “Was not the ideal candidate?”

“Ideal is somewhere on the other side of the moon. I'm not searching for ideal. I just want someone who can add, subtract, and tell me the result in an English I can understand.” Jake examined Ahmet and said for the dozenth time that day, “I thought you said you had vetted these candidates.”

“Oh yes, most careful vetting,” Ahmet agreed. “This last lady, she was very pretty, no?”

“Grand. Just grand. Only I don't see how a background as a music teacher and two courses in French prepare her to be my assistant.”

Ahmet made grave eyes. “She was not mathematics teacher? She did not live in England?”

Jake had to laugh. “When I showed her the rows of numbers, she looked like they were going to reach out and bite her. And I'm still not sure how it was we communicated at
all, since I don't speak any Turkish, and I am pretty sure she's never been anywhere within shouting distance of an English dictionary, much less England.”

“Oh, oh, oh.” Ahmet gave his head a mournful shake. “Is so hard to find worthy employees in such times.” He paused for a moment of sober reflection, then brightened. “Perhaps you should speak yet again with young Selim?”

“I believe I'm finally beginning to get the picture,” Jake replied. “The mist is finally clearing before my eyes. Selim wouldn't happen to be a relative of yours, would he?”

“Oh no, Meester Jake. Not mine. Sister's husband's nephew.” The patented beam returned. “Is very nice boy.”

“Your very nice boy can't add, thinks subtraction is something to do with his fingers and toes, and wrestles with English almost as well as I do with alligators.” Jake pushed himself erect. “Bring on the next candidate.”

Ahmet opened pudgy palms toward the ceiling. “Is no more.”

“That's all?” Jake had to smile at the man's audacity. “You've scoured the streets and filled my day with twenty-three people who don't know accounting from acrobatics, and you say that's the best you can do?”

“Is terrible, no?” The beam widened. “Perhaps you see Selim tomorrow after all.”

“Highly unlikely.” Jake found himself not minding in the least when a glint of exasperation showed on the little man's face. He reached for his coat, shut and locked his door, turned back to see Ahmet struggling to recapture his grin. “We'll start again tomorrow.”

“But Meester Jake—”

“Accountants,” Jake said, stopping him with a hand that pushed at the air between them so hard the little man squeaked back a step. “Accountants with English. Remember that. And don't waste any more of my time.”