Istanbul Passage (48 page)

They took the catheter out that afternoon and gave him broth, his first food. It was important to move, not lie in bed, so he was walked around the room, baby steps, wheeling the IV rack with him, a nurse at his side. Not too much at once, to the door, then back, a rest in the chair. By the end of the day, he could go to the bathroom by himself. Altan came just as it was getting dark.

“Out of bed already? That’s a good sign,” he said, flipping on the overhead light.

Leon looked up from the visitor’s chair, where he’d been staring at the floor.

“A little gloomy, sitting like this in the dark.” Altan pulled up another chair, a bustling motion, settling a briefcase by his side. “And you so lucky. The last man standing—that’s the expression, yes?”

“What are you going to say happened?”

“Say? What did happen.”

“No you won’t. It was a mess. And Jianu’s dead. Nobody got him. So what are you going to say?” His voice still weak, a slight croaking.

“Well, as to that.” Altan crossed his leg and sat back, so that his face went partly in shadow, the phantom moustache flickering back and forth on his lip. “Everybody’s dead. Except you. So it’s your story.” He looked at Leon. “How they killed each other.”

“And Gülün finally gets his medal.”

“No, that wouldn’t be convenient,” he said, drawing out a cigarette and lighting it. “A Turkish officer shooting a Russian? People would be upset. Oh,” he said, noticing Leon’s face, “it’s not allowed?” He looked at the cigarette. “Maybe this once. Something between us.”

“So who shot him?”

“Jianu. They shot each other. Unfortunately, some innocents got in the way.” He nodded at Leon. “Fortunately, they recovered.”

“And they’ll believe that.”

“Why wouldn’t they? It’s what everybody wants. What suits. Jianu’s dead, which is what the Russians wanted. And you know, I think they’ll be grateful Melnikov’s dead too. A brutal man, even for them. You heard about Stalingrad? His own men? Think what a relief to have him gone. Of course, they can’t say this.” He drew on the cigarette. “The Americans avenge their Mr. Bishop. And we? We get to protest to both. Guns in the streets. Endangering Turkish citizens.
Apologies have been demanded. Even the Russians are embarrassed. An excess. They should learn from the Ottomans. The silk cord. No noise. No
pop, pop
. But very effective. Of course, they won’t learn that. It’s not in their nature.” He looked up. “But at least this way, an acceptable story.”

“And who shot me? If they killed each other.”

“Jianu. Before. If we say a Russian, there’s no end to this. Official protests. Swords waving. Everybody a
gazi
. It’s enough now. Jianu was that kind of man.” He looked straight at Leon. “First Mr. King. Poor Enver. Now Melnikov. And you.”

“Anybody else you can think of while you’re at it? Some unsolved cases you can throw in the file? Christ. Alexei killed everybody. That’s what I’m supposed to say?”

“You already have,” Altan said, lifting the briefcase. “You think only Emniyet does this? Arranges things?” He patted the case. “We have the statements. Gülün confirms yours. No medal this time, but a different reward, for his discretion.” He paused, taking in Leon’s expression. “You think it’s corrupt. The old empire. My friend, everybody changes the story. The Russians? They’ve believed their own lies for so long that—” He let the thought finish itself. “And now the Americans. You’re just learning how to live in the world.” He looked over at Leon. “They shot each other. You recovered. It’s the convenient story.”

“But there were witnesses. Not everybody’s Gülün. So you got rid of her. You sent her home.”

“Who? Oh, the faithful Mrs. Bishop.”

“You couldn’t take any chances with her. You got her a priority.”

“Leon, she didn’t need anyone to do that for her. All she had to do—” He stopped. “You still don’t know? She didn’t tell you?”

Leon said nothing, feeling for the armrest.

Altan made a kind of sigh through his nose. “That she leaves to me.” He put out the cigarette. “So foolish, the Americans, using the
wife. His idea too, I’m told. Why? To save money? She has time on her hands, why not put her to use? To get what? What people say at parties in Ankara? Amateurs.” Alexei’s assessment too, a professional shake of the head. “And what happens? Complications,” he said, rolling an eye at Leon. “Emotions. There’s no place for that. She wanted the trade. Her husband’s killer.” He glanced away. “Maybe she felt—well, whatever reason. I told Barksdale it wasn’t necessary. Don’t give up Jianu. It’s just a matter of time. But no. They listened to her. An amateur.”

Leon was listening now too. Just a trade, she’d said, until you— Why did you?

“Always a mistake, using a wife. Think of the risk, the one can be used against the other.”

“But they weren’t,” Leon said dully, leading him, wanting to know, his voice sounding like an echo.

“Still, a risk. Two. It compromises any operation.”

“No. She never said a word.”

“Of course not. You were the operation.”

He felt the chill on his back, air coming through the open hospital gown. Then the weight again, his body sinking into the chair.

“Not that it did much good,” Altan was saying. “You didn’t give her anything. I thought, now she’s got him. But she didn’t.”

“No,” Leon said, another echo.

“You never gave Jianu away. Not even to her,” he said, oddly admiring.

“I couldn’t,” Leon said, his voice still far away.

“Leon?”

He looked up, aware now that Altan had been talking. “I was supposed to keep him safe. That’s what it was all for. Everything that happened. To keep him alive.” His mouth began to turn up, as if he had heard a joke, back where his voice was. “Keep him alive.”

Altan raised his eyebrows, a nurse watching a patient.

“You all wanted him,” Leon said. “Everybody. Then nobody did.”

Altan shifted in his chair. “In my opinion, a waste. What can he do for anybody now? Dead.”

“Nothing. That’s what he wanted.”

Altan looked at him, not sure how to take this.

“All this to get Dorothy,” Leon said, the idea still implausible.

“No.”

“No?”

“A very devious man, Melnikov,” Altan said, sitting back, settling in. “I don’t think he trusted you. Your mistress, a little insurance to keep your gun in your pocket. Mrs. Wheeler to distract you. While the real one is taken away. Of course eventually you would realize the mistake. All those questions with no answers. But by then too late. He’s gone.”

“Who?” Leon said, only half listening.

“Mr. Wheeler. Naval attaché. An expert on the Black Sea. And much else, it seems.”

Leon raised his head. Another joke, off somewhere. “Alexei always said he’d be in Ankara,” he said.

“Yes. The logical place.”

“She knew?”

Altan shook his head. “The Soviets would never use a husband and wife. They’re too experienced for that,” he said, making a point. “She knew nothing. Which, of course, came out. An odd marriage. But maybe not. What do any of us know? But suspicions, yes. A woman who noticed things. So maybe she knew and she didn’t know. Both. It’s possible, don’t you think?”

“Yes.”

“Anyway, we detained Mr. Wheeler before he could go, so not such an ordeal for her. Polite questions, I understand.”

“You detained him?”

“The Black Sea was an Ottoman lake. Once. When the bear takes an
interest—we like to know why. A few questions. But now the Americans have him.” He opened his hand. “They paid for him. You paid for him.”

A face he couldn’t even remember, leaning over Dorothy’s desk.

“He went along with this? Setting her up?”

“Leon,” Altan said, a mock patience. “What would be the sense of telling him? You never know how people are going to react. Of course he was in no position to object. They were getting him out. Maybe later he could send for her. Maybe she refuses. They often do, I’m told. Given what it’s like there. But we got to him first.”

He leaned back again, pleased, as if he had tied a bow that had come out right, like the statements in his briefcase. Dorothy would have to make one too. What she knew and didn’t know. Left behind.

Leon looked up from the chair. “You’re all bastards, aren’t you? All of you. Tommy and—” He stopped, too tired to follow his own thought. “Bastards.”

Altan stared at him for a minute, then nodded slowly, humoring him. “But in a good cause,” he said, getting up and walking to the window, then turning to Leon. “What did you think this was?”

Another echo, her voice again. What did you think this was? In the beginning. Maybe not thinking at all.

“Good cause,” Leon said, his voice rough with scorn. “What cause?”

Altan’s body went still, not rising to this. He took out another cigarette.

“Do you know how long we have been doing this? The empire should have been finished two hundred years ago, more. From then on, there were only bad choices. Good for someone else, maybe, but bad for us. How much money to borrow? How much land to give up. All bad choices. But we survived. We found a balance between. The Ottoman solution,” he said ironically. “I like to think it’s a kind of wisdom. Life is like that, don’t you think? Mostly bad choices. All you can do is keep your balance between them.”

“You lost the empire,” Leon said flatly.

Altan peered at him through the smoke, annoyed. “And we learned from that too. Sometimes one bad choice is worse than the other.
Ferengi
who want to use us to fight each other. So we keep our eyes open now. We have to know how things are. It’s the only way to protect ourselves, to know.”

“No matter what you have to do. Who gets killed.”

Altan shrugged. “It’s not a perfect world. For whom are you in mourning?”

Leon looked away. “No one.”

Everyone disposable, as he’d been, Tommy’s gun firing at him.

“Good,” Altan said, coming back from the window. “It’s important in this work—to keep a clear head.” He picked up the briefcase and put it on the table to open it. “It’s been interesting, watching you. I didn’t think you could do it. So many complications. But no, good instincts. You are—resourceful. Impossible to train someone for that. My only concern was this weakness—it’s a mistake to form a personal attachment. Trusting a man like Jianu. Of course he’d take advantage, try to escape. That was sloppy. But in the end you did what you had to do. So you learn from that.”

Leon looked up, another story.

“You know I killed him.”

“So Gülün said. I confess, I was relieved. I didn’t know if you were hard enough to—”

“That’s not why.”

“No? Well, it comes to the same thing.” He pulled out a paper. “For the Americans.”

“What’s that?”

“Your statement. How they killed each other.”

“Why are you doing this? What difference does it make to you?”

“If the Americans knew, how it really was, they’d never trust you again. This way, who knows, they might give you a medal.”

“I don’t want a medal.”

Altan nodded. “Or a job, either. They’ll offer you one, I think. Here, sign. But you’re finished with all that. Reasons of health, maybe,” he said, touching his chest.

“Finished?” Leon said, waiting for the rest.

“You can’t serve two masters. You might be tempted to play them off against each other.”

“Two.”

“I need to trust my people.”

“Your people.”

“People who work for me. I think it’ll be good, the two of us.” He held out a pen. “Sign it.”

Leon stared at him, the soft click of a lock turning in his head. “And if I don’t?”

“My friend, you don’t want to put that gun in your hand. Everything changes. For you. It starts all over again. On both sides. And this time, you’re Jianu. We have better things to do.” He gestured again with the pen.

“What makes you think I’d ever do that? Work for you?”

“Leon, the best warriors the Ottomans ever had were the Janissaries. All foreign born. All loyal. They served the empire.” He looked over. “And the empire served them.”

“They were slaves.”

“Only in a manner of speaking. Chains of self-interest would describe it better. Golden chains. You are the perfect Janissary.”

“I don’t want anything from you.”

“No? There are other statements here,” he said, reaching in and pulling out some papers. “For another file, I thought. Somewhere safe. The fisherman’s. What happened at Bebek? Jianu can no longer tell us. Now there’s only you. If a judge believes you.” He pulled out more paper. “Gülün’s other statement. So puzzling. What reason could you possibly have for shooting Jianu? Self-defense? A man
lying there, without a gun? Of course other statements can be arranged. From people on the bridge. So there’s no doubt. Now two men killed. Bebek, the bridge. Think how many stories we could make up to link them. Perhaps you have one of your own. But the facts will be that you were there, both places, and killed both men.” He stopped. “Leon. Even with bad choices, there are worse choices.”

Leon stared down at the paper, the one that said he hadn’t done anything at all, a story of good intentions.

“I’m not a traitor.”

“Yes, I know. The good patriot. Leon, we want the Americans to protect us. I don’t ask you to work against them.”

“Just what people say at parties?” Leon said, sarcastic.

“Well, the foreign community. It’s true, we like to have ears there. But they’re leaving Istanbul. The war’s over. We’re not—” A second, looking for the word. “Strategic anymore. If only the Russians would go too. But no, so we need other ears. Their Turkish friends. Some of them you already know. Friends of Georg. What do they say to them? A foreigner who speaks Turkish—a valuable asset. An American working for me? No Turk would ever suspect. And resourceful. Think of it this way. It’s what you would do for the Americans. Except you do it for me. Unofficial. The way you like to work.” He paused, the air still. “For me. But not against them. You have my word.”

“Your word,” Leon said, almost laughing.

“Yes, my word,” Altan said, nodding to the papers. “Not Gülün’s. Not the fisherman’s. None of them. Mine. You have that. So you see. What a perfect Janissary arrangement it will be. We will have an obligation to each other. Sign, please.”