Istanbul Express (7 page)

His anger and his fatigue powered him down the stairs and through the lobby so swiftly that he was already beside the
Marine's desk before the oddity struck home. He turned for another glance, saw that there was indeed a thin, bearded man hunched in the corner of the corridor's only bench. It was very strange, for security measures forbade anyone inside the front door without an escort.

Jake leaned over the Marine's barrier and faced the young man who had brought them in from the train station the day before. For the life of him, his fatigue-addled brain could not come up with the soldier's name. “Who's he waiting to see, Corporal?”

“Why, you, sir.”

Jake glanced from the tired, disheveled-looking man on the bench to the Marine and back again. “Say that again?”

“He was the first applicant to be passed through this morning.” The young man was typical of the consular guard staff, spit-shined and erect and so fresh he made Jake feel ancient. “Mrs. Ecevit vetted him personally.”

Jake searched his memory, came up with another vague recollection from the day before. “Let's see, she's aide to the political officer, do I have that right?”

“That's the one.” The Marine hesitated, then said, “Sir, is it true what they say, that you were in the push through Italy and all?”

“That was a long time ago, soldier. Another lifetime.”

But the Marine wasn't finished. “And that story about you rescuing the French resistance officer and carrying him through the desert? And what about you getting behind the Russkie lines and sneaking out those scientists and helping to start up the Berlin airlift?”

Jake gaped at the young man. “Where on earth did you hear all that guff?”

“From the Frenchie, sir, I mean Major Servais. He talked about you the whole way to the hotel yesterday. Your wife too. The major stopped by here this morning, but when he saw the line of people waiting to see you, he hung around a little, talking with us here at the station, then took off.”

The young man could no longer suppress his grin. “The stories are all true, aren't they, sir? Boy, wait until the other guys hear about this. The major said you won the Silver Star and the Croix de Guerre, had that one pinned on by DeGaulle himself, I guess that's true too, sir?”

Jake started to brush off the admiration, then found himself staring into those clear gray eyes and wondering if perhaps he had found himself an unexpected ally. “Do you know this Mrs. Ecevit personally?”

“Oh yes, sir.” The Marine bounced to full attention at the chance to offer more than polite chitchat. “I've been here almost a year now. I guess I know everybody, at least enough to say hello.”

“What can you tell me about her?”

“She's a real firecracker, sir.” The grin was hard to keep trapped, even at attention. “Sharp as a tack, too. I've seen her lay into that Ahmet fellow right back there in the corridor, peel skin from bone better than my drill sergeant back on Parris Island.”

“She did?” The woman's stock just shot up. “You know why?”

“No, but I can guess. She doesn't have time for pencil pushers and official sneaks, sir.”

“She doesn't.”

“Not a second.” A glance around the empty hall, then, “A guy who keeps his eyes open can see a lot from here, sir. That Ahmet's always scampering around, sticking his nose where it doesn't belong, sucking up to the guys with perks and power.”

“I've noticed.”

“Sure, I mean, yessir. Anyway, I imagine he tried it once too often with the lady, and she proceeded to blister his hide.” A flicker of movement out of the corner, and the Marine snapped to rigid alert, finished with a crisp, “Sir.”

A deeper voice said, “Can I help you with anything, Colonel?”

Jake turned to face the guard sergeant, a stern-faced leatherneck with four rows of campaign ribbons. Jake nodded a greeting. “Just getting to know one of your men a little. Hope that's all right.”

“Long as he sticks to his duty, I suppose it's okay, sir.”

“Thank you,” Jake said, playing at ease. “What's your name, Sergeant?”

“Adams, sir.” A half-made salute, just enough in the gesture and the eyes to let Jake know he was not going to curry favor with anyone. He was far beyond either the need or the desire.

Jake decided it was worth meeting the man head on. He glanced down at the ribbons, found two he recognized. “You were at Anzio?”

“That's right.” The gaze sharpened. “What about you?”

Jake shook his head. “Came ashore at Syracuse. Met some of your group outside Naples. Tough assignment.”

“Yeah, ain't they all?” The rigid reserve relaxed a notch. “There's been a French officer around here this morning, you catch his name, Bailey?”

“Major Servais, sir.” The young Marine officer bit off the words.

“That's the one. He had some pretty interesting tales to tell, Colonel. Any of 'em true?”

“Old war stories grow like fish caught yesterday,” Jake replied. “They get bigger with each telling.”

The measuring gaze granted him a hint of approval. “Now, ain't that the truth.”

Jake decided it was time to plant a seed. He leaned over the guardpost barrier, said quietly, “You soldiers know what it means to be a duck out of water?”

Within the sergeant's steely gaze appeared a glinting blade of humor. “We're here, ain't we?”

“I've been pulled from garrison duty at Badenburg, given a grand total of three weeks' training,” Jake said, stretching the truth a mite, “then thrown out here and told to do the impossible.”

The sergeant glanced at the Marine. “Sounds just like the corps, don't it, Bailey?”

“Sure does, Sarge.”

“What's your first name, Corporal?” Jake demanded.

“Samuel. Samuel Bailey, sir.”

Jake nodded, as though taking the news in deep, giving it value. Then back to the sergeant. “I need use of your eyes and your ears, Sergeant. Yours and your men's.”

Back to the measuring gaze. “This a formal requisition, Colonel?”

“If it is,” Jake replied, “then no matter how tight I try to keep it, sooner or later it's going to become common knowledge. Two days here, and I'm already aware of that.”

A single chop of a nod in agreement. “The political officer appears to be a guy who doesn't leave a paper trail.”

“You want me to let somebody else know we've talked,” Jake said, understanding him, and taking great comfort from the fact that he had suggested Barry Edders. “I don't have any trouble with that at all. Tomorrow I'll lay it out.” He let a little of his fatigue and his desperation show through. “I've got to find some people I can trust, Sergeant. And fast. I'm not asking for anything in particular. Just to keep watch and let me know what's on the up and up.”

“Help you find the bear traps and the land mines,” the sergeant offered.

“That's it exactly.”

The sergeant glanced at the soldier standing duty. “I don't see as how I've got a problem with that. What about you, Bailey?”

“It'd be an honor, sir. I'm sure I can speak for all the guys. A genuine honor.”

Jake dropped his eyes in an attempt to mask the relief he felt. But he looked to find the sergeant's steady gaze looking deep and had to say, “You don't know what that means, finding somebody I can rely on. My back is truly to the wall.”

The leatherneck broke the hardness of his face enough to
offer a quick thin-lipped smile. “Any chance of some action, Colonel? This guard duty starts to weigh heavy after a while.”

“I would say there is a good chance of that,” Jake replied, and then was struck with an idea. “How'd you like me to see if the consul general would assign one of you fellows to travel up country with me? Could be dangerous, though.”

That brought a reaction so strong Jake felt he was watching the sun appear from behind heavy cloud cover. “You just said the magic words, Colonel. Travel and danger.”

“I'll speak with somebody first thing tomorrow morning,” Jake promised. He nodded at their crisp salutes, the sergeant's now as snappy as the corporal's. Then he turned back to the corridor. “And thanks.”

He walked over to where the bearded man sat slouched upon the bench. The eyes did not rise at Jake's approach. Jake slowed, took the time to inspect the man more closely. His black suit, shiny with age, hung limply upon his bony frame. The scraggly beard was laced with gray threads. A battered and dusty fedora rested in the man's lap.

Jake sat down on the bench, watched as the man emerged slowly from his stooped reverie and lifted hollowed cheeks and dark eyes to stare back. Then for a moment Jake found himself unable to speak. The sight of that ever-hungry gaze drew him back to another time, when he had stood outside a barbed-wire compound and watched the haggard faces of war stare back. He swallowed, managed, “They told me all the applicants had been seen.”

The man continued to watch him for a moment, then replied in softly accented English, “It is the way of people such as your Mr. Ahmet. They will grant me entry, then leave me seated here for as long as I am willing to remain and endure the silent humiliation. Then, you see, they are able to claim that they have never practiced discrimination. It is a most Turkish of solutions.”

Jake nodded slowly, “You are Jewish?”

“I am.” The steady gaze faltered, and one pale hand lifted
to cover his eyes. “Forgive me. I should not have spoken as I did. But I have been waiting here . . .”

“Since early this morning. I just heard from the guard. I am sorry. That is unforgivable.”

“It is expected.” The hand dropped tiredly. “But I decided to try, nonetheless, even though it was known that all consulates are closed shops, with local employment controlled by one such as Ahmet.”

“He's obviously let one slip through his grasp. Mrs. Ecevit.”

“Indeed. A friend of my mother, the only reason I learned of your need for an assistant. She was hired by the political officer while Mr. Ahmet was out sick. She is a breach of his little empire which will not be permitted to last. Something will happen, some unforgivable accident or theft or loss or passage of information to the enemy. And it will be traced back to Mrs. Ecevit. There will be no question, none whatsoever, who is responsible.”

“Not,” Jake replied grimly, “if I have anything to do about it.”

The bearded man gave a tired, tolerant smile. “You have entered a country with almost forty percent unemployment. The power to give someone a job is greater than that of having money. Your Mr. Ahmet will not be pried loose easily, Mr. . . .”

He offered his hand. “Burnes. Jake Burnes.”

“Daniel Levy.”

The man's grip was cool and firm. Jake felt a sudden urging, said, “Levi. The tribe of priests. The ones granted no province of their own, but rather cities within all the other tribes' lands.”

The veil of fatigue lifted from the man's gaze. “You have studied the Torah?”

“The Bible,” Jake replied.

“Ah. You are Christian.”

“Yes.”

“I do not use the word as a description of your heritage.”

“No,” Jake agreed. “Nor I.”

There was a slow nod, one which took hold of the man's entire upper body, back and forth in measured pace. “You are far from home, Mr. Burnes.”

“Very far,” Jake agreed. “Where did you learn your English?”

“Here and there,” the man said, his offhand manner suggesting he was still caught by Jake's earlier admission.

“Do you speak other languages?”

A continuation of the same slow nod. “Turkish, of course. And Greek. My nanny spoke no other language. And my family spoke mostly French within the home. That and Ladino.”

“Come again?”

A hesitant smile parted the strands of his beard. “Perhaps that is a story that should wait for another time.”

“What work experience have you had?”

A hesitation, a strange sense of regret, then, “Until the last year of the war I was employed by a large local company as their accountant.”

“You don't say.” Jake felt the thrill of discovery. “And since then?”

The regret solidified into gaunt lines. “How long have you been in this country, Mr. Burnes?”

“A grand total,” Jake replied, “of two days.”

“I regret that to answer your question I must reveal one of my country's more shameful mistakes.”

“A camp,” Jake breathed. “They put you in a concentration camp.”

Dark eyes inspected him closely. “You have seen the death camps?”

“Some of the survivors,” Jake replied. “As close as I ever want to come.”

“This was nothing so horrendous,” Daniel Levy stated. “But bad enough, nonetheless. Turkey held grimly to its noncombatant status, as did Switzerland. But we are far larger than Switzerland, with eight times the population and even
more land mass. Germany continued to push the Turkish government into declaring itself a Nazi ally. Two of the most strongly worded directives were to supply Germany with troops and to round up the Jewish population. Turkey made the first small step to obey just eleven months before the war finally ended, when Germany threatened to lose its patience and invade.”

The consulate's cool marble entrance hall was no place for this pale gentleman and his quietly suffering voice and his story. Jake said, “You don't have to tell me this.”

“The government issued a proclamation,” Daniel Levy continued in his soft voice, speaking to the opposite wall. “Male Jews over the age of eighteen were rounded up and taken to camps. The soldiers who came for us were most polite and regretful. I remember that one sergeant even saluted me as I stepped into the truck. I also remember how the lieutenant driving our truck told us to take a good look, because if the Germans came any closer to our borders we would not see our homes again.”