Istanbul Passage (45 page)

“Now it’s safe,” Melnikov said. “How many men will you bring?”

All business, negotiating a contract, as if they were in one of the banks on Voyvoda Caddesi at the foot of the hill. Guarantees. Procedures. Handing over someone to be killed. Meeting the funicular cars going up, at the halfway point, then swallowed up again by the narrow passage, Melnikov’s eyes never leaving him, someone who’d killed his own men. Means to an end. But what was the end now?

At the bottom, he stopped himself from rushing out, waiting for the doors to slide all the way open.

“Six o’clock then,” Melnikov said.

And it was done, over, the claustrophobic ride, Melnikov’s eyes. They crossed Tersane, dodging cars, suddenly back in real life, everything opening up before him, the smells of the Karaköy market, the amateur fishermen dangling poles off the bridge, trams and cars and peddlers and the minarets beyond, the scene he’d known a thousand times before, but bathed in an unnatural light now, the city wonderful again because it was done.

“You have not said where,” Melnikov said.

“You pick.”

Melnikov spread his hand, turning the choice back to Leon. “Somewhere with people,” he said.

Leon flipped through mental postcards. Not Haghia Sophia, gloom and frescoes. Taksim, cars waiting close by? A tram was coming across from Eminönü, another from this side, like seconds marking out paces, crowds streaming by, oblivious. He stopped, almost laughing at the obvious.

“Here,” he said, pointing. “Galata Bridge.”

They left early, Alexei in a life vest this time.

“More boats,” he said, but not the creaky fishing trawler, one of Lily’s motorboats, sleek with wood trim.

“I hope you’re not afraid of flying too,” Altan said.

The story was a drive to the airport, army transport out, what should have happened days ago.

“Then why the boat?”

“The airport’s on the European side,” Leon said. “We can’t risk the car ferry. They watch it.” Keeping him safe. “Relax.”

Alexei made a resigned grimace, the boat slapping hard against whitecaps, pitching up and down.

After they passed the Dolmabahçe Mosque, Leon looked up the hill, trying to find his window. There’d be mail waiting, curious Mr. Cicek, wondering what the police had wanted. Alexei was taking everything in, his first real look at the city, spilling over its hills in the weak afternoon light. Leon checked his watch. Almost dark, but at this time of year a lingering dusk, light enough for Melnikov to see them on the bridge.

They swung into the Golden Horn, then idled just far enough away from the bridge to keep it in sight, the cranes and drydocks of the shipyards ahead.

“They won’t expect us to come down the Horn,” Altan said, indicating the factories and oily water farther along. He was scanning the bridge through binoculars.

“Who?” Alexei said. “The Americans?”

“No,” Altan said, catching himself. “Anybody. Force of habit.” So feeble that it passed as an excuse.

“There’s no one on the bridge now,” Alexei said, not meaning the crowds.

“How do you know?”

“I looked. When we passed under. You don’t need those if you know how to look. They say a lion can sit, looking at grass, and then for one second something’s not right, a movement, one second, and he knows.”

Altan made a face.
“Aslan,”
he said wryly. Lion.

Leon looked at the bridge. Could anyone really see that way? A second’s movement in a place perpetually in motion? The iron arches, the pontoons at their feet, people crowding onto the jetties from the ferries, the lower level of fish restaurants and stalls, trams sliding overhead, the sprawling market—all the same to him, nothing out of place. How much longer now? He turned and gazed toward the docks, trying not to look at Alexei. Around the curve was Kasim Paşa and then the yards where the
Victorei
had waited in quarantine.

“Any news of the ship?” he asked Altan.

It took Altan a minute. “Oh, the Jews. No. How would I hear? We don’t follow them to Palestine.”

“I’d like to know,” Leon said, a request.

“You know it was said there was typhus?”

Leon nodded. “A miracle recovery. It cost ten thousand dollars. Turkish medicine.”

Altan stared at him, more embarrassed than offended.

“How many? On the ship,” Alexei asked.

“Four hundred,” Leon said. “A few more.”

“You saved four hundred Jews,” Altan said to Alexei, an ironic taunting in his voice.

“And I only owed you one life,” Alexei said to Leon.

“You don’t owe me anything,” Leon said quickly.

Alexei put his hand to his chest, an abbreviated salaam.
“Bereket versin.”

“You know Turkish?” Altan said, surprised.

“A few words. You pick things up.” He looked at Altan.
“Aslan.”

Altan turned back to the bridge.

“Why are we here?” Alexei said to Leon. “What happens now?”

“It’s not time yet. There’ll be a car,” Leon said, nodding to the Eminönü side. Where Melnikov must be waiting, in the big square filled with buses and stalls frying mackerel from the boats tied up alongside. “I’ll walk you over. And then we’re done.”

Alexei kept looking at him, not saying anything.

“Nothing to it,” Leon said, uneasy.

“Then why did you bring a gun?” Alexei said, looking to Leon’s pocket.

“In case,” Leon said vaguely.

“In case I run?” Alexei said. “So careful, the Americans. Where would I go? In Washington let’s hope they’re not so careful. A long job, if they don’t believe me.”

“Skip the Soviets’ man there, then,” Leon said, trying it. “If you want to build some trust. Or was he just for me? Keep me interested.”

Alexei turned to the bridge, not answering.

“In high places,” Leon said. “The one nobody knows. Who isn’t there. Is he?”

Alexei was quiet for a moment. “He must be,” he said finally, “don’t you think? Someone must be. A safe move.” He turned back to Leon. “To keep me valuable, that’s all.”

He pulled up the collar of his jacket, hunkering down. “What does he think he’ll find?” he said, looking at Altan in the front of the boat, still scanning the bridge.

Leon joined him on the seat, their jackets touching.

“Ten minutes,” Altan said over his shoulder. “Get ready.”

Alexei pulled the duffel bag closer. “Well, then it’s good-bye,” he said to Leon. He looked down, oddly hesitant. “You know that job—training your people—the one I talked about? If you could mention it to someone. If you think it would help. A word from you—”

Leon nodded, cutting him off, each word like a tug on his sleeve.

He got up, leaning against the gunwale, as if there were something to see in the water. “Tell me. It can’t matter to you now. I mean, we’re here. So what I think doesn’t—”

Alexei lifted an eyebrow.

“What did you do at Străuleşti?”

“Why do you ask this?” Alexei said.

Leon looked at him, waiting. Make it easier for me.

“It’s not enough, your ship?”

“I want to know.”

A long silence, Alexei looking at his hands.

“What you told me—” Leon said.

“What? I don’t even remember anymore. What I said. But you have to know. Something that happened—” He looked out toward the old city. “In another world.” Quiet again, then turning back to Leon. “Outside. Only outside. I never went in. Didn’t I say that? It’s the truth. The meat stamps, the hooks—I wasn’t part of that. Craziness. I was outside.” He stopped. “Like a guard. Of what, I don’t know. Outside.” He looked up. “But I could hear. Is that what you want to know, what I heard?”

“No.”

“No, it’s better. Don’t listen. Someday maybe somebody asks you,” he said, looking at Leon, “and what do you say? I had to do it? All you can say is, I was there. But outside. I was outside.” He stopped. “Do you think it would have made any difference? If I hadn’t been there?”

Leon said nothing.

“None. Maybe a difference to me,” he said, his voice lower. “Not to hear it. But not to them.” He took a breath. “So. Now stop asking me this. Wait a few years, when you see what things are like. Then ask.”

“And that’s the truth.”

“Didn’t I say so?”

Leon nodded. “Everyone else is dead.”

“That’s right. There’s only me to say. Everyone’s dead. Not just them. Everyone. People I knew.”

“But you weren’t standing outside then.”

“You want to blame me for this? There has to be somebody? So it makes sense?” He waved his hand. “Go ahead. And will that make any difference, either?” He shook his head. “They’re dead. You want justice for them? Not in this world.”

“All right, let’s go,” Altan said, motioning the driver to pull up to the jetty. “Careful of the step.”

Alexei stared at Leon. “That’s what things were like, that time. It’s different now.”

Leon looked back. No squeals this time. Nothing to hear. A simple exchange, people passing by.

“Good luck,” Altan said, taking Alexei’s hand to steady him for the climb out of the boat. Friendly, helping him along.

Alexei made it in two steps, the duffel following.

“Gülün and his men will be at the top of the stairs,” Altan said to Leon, glancing toward the bridge. “Don’t look for him or the
aslan
will know,” he said, sarcastic. “Just the two of you. Until it’s too late. Then bring Melnikov’s man back. Let’s hope he’s not a Turk. After all this.”

Leon stood, not moving, eyes fixed on Altan’s upper lip. No moustache.

“All right?”

All right. A matter of minutes, that’s all. Something Alexei had done—how many times? What he wanted to do in Washington, handing over names, already had done for Altan at Lily’s. It gets easier. But just then, lifting himself out of the boat, the minutes felt endless. Altan waved and pulled away.

They made their way to the bridge through the Karaköy market, sidestepping pools of melted ice streaked with fish blood, strands of wilted greens. Cats lurked behind the stalls, waiting for scraps. There
was more food near the steps of the bridge, stuffed mussels and braziers with chestnuts.

They stopped for a minute on top, catching a breath before they waded into the crowd. Don’t look for Gülün, anybody, just start walking. Meet in the middle, no advantage on either side. Not too fast, as formally paced as a gunfight, except in a Western there’d be no one else in the streets, the townspeople cowering and Melnikov dressed in black, to make everything clear. Instead there were water salesmen with silver canisters strapped to their backs and
hamals
wheeling carts and a
simit
peddler with a tray of bread rings balanced on his head.

Leon felt the gun in his pocket. Not something you’d want to use in a crowd, just in case. In case what? They had to shoot their way back? Altan had never said, but now that they were here Leon knew. Alexei would recognize Melnikov, not a stranger, and might have to be persuaded to keep going, prodded forward. Maybe even shot if he tried to bolt. In the foot, a knee, somewhere to keep him alive for Melnikov. The gun was for Alexei.

And Melnikov would have his own, ready to use on the other side, his man unsuspecting too until the final minute. Maybe until he recognized Leon. Someone who’d killed Frank and would kill again, meanwhile betraying them all to the Soviets. There were two people in this trade, not just Alexei. A frontier justice, maybe the only kind there ever was. Think of it as bringing someone to trial.

“What kind of car?” Alexei said. “American?”

“I don’t know. They didn’t say. In front of the mosque, that’s all.”

Each step a foot closer. His eyes darted over the fishermen lining the rail, waiting for one of them to turn his head as they passed, not a fisherman. What it must feel like hunting, preparing to kill, a lion watching the grass.

They were on the Horn side of the bridge, traffic coming from behind. Maybe a burst of gunfire from a passing car. The Russians were capable of anything, any deceit. But all he saw were taxis on
their way to Sirkeci. Don’t look back, Alexei sure to notice. So far not even wary, trusting the car to be there, trusting Leon. Everything as planned. Then why the dismay, this constriction in his chest, Leon feeling that it was he who was being brought to trial. Betraying, Alexei had said, gets easier. Leon glanced over. Now eager, almost boyish, what he must have looked like in Bucharest.

Leon scanned the crowd up ahead. Maybe a quarter of the way across now, Melnikov here soon. I think you may be surprised. Some teenage boys ran out of the stairway from the restaurant level below. Where he and Kay had had lunch, looking at minarets, Ed embarrassed to stumble on them. Years ago.

How many times had he walked across this bridge, feeling lucky to be here? Now, a shiver, he sensed everything was about to change. Even in this half-light things seemed sharper, as if they knew he’d have to remember them, be asked about them one day. And what would he say? I was outside. Listening. He glanced over at Alexei again. A head snapped on a bathroom floor because it was in the way. I’m not you. A wave of panic rose in his throat, like bile. I’m not you. But everything now set in motion, Melnikov already somewhere in the sea of heads coming toward them. The
simit
man was back, partly blocking the view. Leon leaned a little to his left.