Topkapi (10 page)

I started to tell him the whole story again from the beginning, but he wanted details now.

“You say that he spoke like a German who has lived in America for some years. When did you reach that conclusion? After you heard him speak German to the man at the garage?”

“No. Hearing him speak German only confirmed the impression I had had.”

“If you were to hear me speak German fluently could you tell whether it was my mother tongue or not?”

“No.”

“How did he pronounce the English word ‘later,’ for example?”

I tried to tell him.

“You know, the German ‘I’ is more frontal than that,” he said; “but in Turkish, before certain vowels, the ‘I’ is like the English consonant you were pronouncing. If you were told that this man had a Turkish background, would you disbelieve it?”

“Not if I were told it was true perhaps. But is Harper a Turkish name?”

“Is it a German one?”

“It could be an anglicization of Hipper.”

“It could also be an anglicization of Harbak.” He shrugged. “It could also be an alias. It most probably is. All I am trying to discover is if the man could be Turkish.”

“Because of the political aspects you mentioned?”

“Obviously. Tear-gas grenades, concussion grenades, smoke grenades, six pistols, six times twenty rounds of ammunition. Six determined men equipped with that material making a surprise attack on some important person or group of persons could accomplish a great deal. There are still many supporters of the former regime. They do not like the army’s firm hands.”

I refrained from telling him that I wasn’t so very fond of those firm hands myself.

“But, of course,” he went on, “we keep our eyes on them. If they wished to attempt anything they would need help from outside. You say he had Swiss francs and West German marks as well as dollars?”

“Yes.”

“Naturally it is possible that what we have here is only one small corner of a much larger plan. If so, there is a lot of money behind it. This man Harper went to a great deal of trouble and expense to get that material through. Perhaps ...”

The telephone rang and he broke off to answer it. His call to Istanbul had come through. I understood about one word in ten of his side of the conversation. He was reporting to his boss; that much was easily gathered. My name was mentioned several times. After that he mostly listened, just putting in an occasional
evet
to show that he was getting the point. I could hear the faint quacking of the voice at the other end of the line. Finally it stopped. Tufan asked a question and received a brief reply. That was all. Tufan made a respectful sound, then hung up and looked across at me.

“Bad news for you, Simpson,” he said. “The Director does not feel disposed to help you in any way. He regards the charges against you as too serious.”

“I’m sorry.” There seemed nothing more to say. I downed another
raki
to try to settle my stomach.

“He considers that you have not been sufficiently helpful to us. I was unable to persuade him.”

“I’ve told you everything I know.”

“It is not enough. What we need to know is more about this man Harper, who his associates and contacts are, who this Fräulein Lipp is, where the arms and ammunition are going, how they are to be used. If you could supply that information or help to supply it, of course, your case might be reconsidered.”

“The only way I could possibly get information like that would be to drive on to Istanbul tomorrow as if nothing had happened, go to the Park Hotel, and wait for somebody to contact me as arranged. Is that what you’re telling me I have to do?”

He sat down facing me. “It is what we might tell you to do, if we thought that we could trust you. My Director is doubtful. Naturally, he is thinking of your past record.”

“What has that to do with it?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Supposing you warn these people that the car was searched. Perhaps they would reward you.”

“Reward me?” I laughed loudly; I think I must have been getting a bit tight. “Reward me for telling them that they are under surveillance? Are you serious? You were talking about a group of men determined enough to risk their lives. At the moment, the only contact I can identify is Harper. He may or may not be in Istanbul. Supposing he’s not. Someone has to contact me to get at the car. What do I do? Whisper ‘Fly, all is discovered’ into his ear, and expect him to tip me before he leaves? Or do I wait until I’ve made a few more contacts before I tell them the good news, so that they can pass the hat round? Don’t be ridiculous! They’d know at once that they wouldn’t get far, because you’d pick me up again and make me talk. Reward? I’d be lucky if they let me stay alive.”

He smiled. “The Director wondered if you would have the sense to see that.”

But I was too annoyed by what I thought was his stupidity to grasp the implication of what he had said. I went on in English. I didn’t care any more whether he understood me or not. I said: “In any case, what have you got to lose? If I don’t turn up in Istanbul tomorrow, they’ll know that something’s gone wrong, and all you’ll have is a couple of names that don’t mean anything to you, and a secondhand Lincoln. You’ll have me, too, of course, but you already know all I know about this, and you’re going to look damn silly standing up in court trying to prove that I was going to carry out a one-man
coup d’etat.
Your bloody Director may be one of those fine, upstanding, crap-packed bastards who thinks that everybody who doesn’t smell to high heaven of sweetness and roses isn’t worth a second thought, but if his brain isn’t where his arse ought to be he must know he’s got to trust me. He has no bloody alternative.”

Tufan nodded calmly and moved the
raki
bottle just out of my reach. “Those were more or less the Director’s own words,” he said.

I WOKE UP the next morning with a hangover; and not just because of the
raki
. Nervous strain always has that effect on me. It was a wonder that I had been able to sleep at all.

The “eatable food” that Tufan had ordered had turned out to be yoghurt (which I detest) and some sort of sheep’s milk cheese. I had just eaten some more bread while Tufan made telephone calls.

The Lincoln had been left out at the Karaagac customs post, which was closed for the night. He had had to get the Commandant out of bed to open the place up, and arrange for an army driver to take the car to the garrison repair shop. The grenades and arms, and my bag, had been removed to the local army H.Q. for examination. That meant that more people, including the customs inspector who had searched the car, had then had to be rounded up so that the stuff could be put back inside the doors again exactly as it had been found.

Even with all the authority he had, it had taken an hour just to organize the work. Then the question of a hotel room for me had come up. I was so exhausted by then that I would not have minded sleeping in a cell. I had told him so; but, of course, it had not been my comfort he had been thinking about. I had had to listen to a lecture. Supposing Harper asked me where I had spent the night; supposing this, supposing that. An agent sometimes had to take risks, but he should never take unnecessary ones; to be caught out through carelessness over trifles was unforgivable; and so on and so on. That had been the first time he had referred to me as an “agent”. It had given me an uncomfortable feeling.

He had told me to meet him outside a new apartment building near the hotel at nine o’clock. He was already there when I arrived. His clothes were still quite neat, but he hadn’t shaved and his eyes were puffy. He looked as if he had been up all night. Without even saying “good morning” he motioned to me to follow him, and led the way down a ramp to a small garage in the basement of the building.

The Lincoln was there and looking very clean.

“I had it washed,” he said. “It had too many finger marks on it. It’ll be dusty again by the time you get to Istanbul. You had better look at the doors.”

I had warned him to be careful about the interior door panels. They were leather and had been quite clean when I had taken the car over in Athens. If some clumsy lout of an army fitter had made scratches or marks when replacing them, Harper would be bound to notice.

I could see nothing wrong, however. If I had not been told, I would not have known that the panels had ever been taken off.

“It’s all inside there, just as it was before?” I asked.

“The customs inspector says so. All the objects were taped out of the way of the window glasses against the metal. Photographs were taken before they were removed.”

He had a set of prints in his pocket and he showed them to me. They didn’t convey much. They looked like pictures of hibernating bats.

“Have you any idea where the stuff was bought?” I asked.

“A good question. The pistols and ammunition are German, of course. The grenades, all kinds, are French. That doesn’t help us much. We do know that the packing was done in Greece.”

“How?”

“It was padded with newspapers to stop any rattling. There are bits of Athens papers dated a week ago.” He took a sealed envelope from the front seat of the car and opened it up. “These are the things that were taken from you at the frontier post,” he said. “You had better put them back in your pockets now and I will keep the envelope. I have had a special tourist visa stamped in the passport validating it as a travel document within Turkey for one month. That is in case the hotel clerk should notice the expiry date, or if you are stopped by the traffic police for any reason. If Harper or any one else should happen to see it, you will simply say that the security control made no difficulties when you promised to get the passport renewed in Istanbul. The
carnet
is in order, of course, and there are your other personal papers.” He handed them to me, then tore the envelope in four and put the pieces in his pocket.

“Now,” he went on, “as to your orders. You know the information we want. First, the names and addresses of all contacts, their descriptions, what they say and do. Secondly, you will attempt, by keeping your ears and eyes open, to discover where and how these arms are to be used. In that connection you will take particular note of any place names mentioned, no matter in what context. Buildings or particular areas, too, Do you understand that?”

“I understand. How do I report?”

“I am coming to that. First, from the moment you leave here you will be under surveillance. The persons allocated to this duty will be changed frequently, but if you should happen to recognize any of them you will pretend not to. Only in an emergency, or in a case of extreme urgency, will you approach them. In that event they will help you if you say my name. You will report normally by telephone, but not from a telephone that goes through a private switchboard. Certainly not from the telephone in a hotel room. Use café telephones. Unless, for physical or security reasons, it is impossible, you will report at ten every night, or at eight the following morning if you have missed the ten o’clock call.” He took a box of matches from his pocket. “The number is written here underneath the matches. As soon as you are certain you will not forget it, throw the box away. If you want to communicate other than at the daily report times, a duty officer will pass your call or give you another number at which I can be reached. Is that all clear?”

“Yes.” I took the matches and looked at the number.

“Just one more thing,” he said. “The Director is not an amiable or kindly man. You will keep faith with us because it would not be in your interests to do otherwise. He knows that, of course. But, for him, stupidity or clumsiness in carrying out orders are just as unacceptable as bad faith and have the same consequences. I would strongly advise you to be successful. That is all, I think, unless you have any questions.”

“No. No questions.”

With a nod, he turned away and walked up the ramp to the street. I put my bag in the back of the car again. Ten minutes later I was clear of Edirne and on the Istanbul road.

After a few miles I identified the surveillance car as a sand-colored Peugeot two or three hundred yards behind me. It kept that distance, more or less, even when trucks or other cars got between us, or going through towns. It never closed up enough for me to see the driver clearly. When I stopped at Corlu for lunch he did not overtake me. I did not see the Peugeot while I was there.

The restaurant was a café with a few shaky tables under a small vine-covered terrace outside. I had a glass or two of
raki
and some stuffed peppers. My stomach began to feel a bit better. I sat there for over an hour. I would have liked to stay longer. There were moments like that at school, too; when one bad time has ended and the next has not yet begun. There can be days of it also, the days when one is on remand awaiting trial - not innocent, not guilty, not responsible, out of the game. I often wish that I could have an operation - not a painful or serious one, of course - just so as to be convalescent for a while after it.

The Peugeot picked me up again three minutes after I left Corlu. I stopped again only once, for petrol. I reached Istanbul soon after four.

I put the Lincoln in a garage just off Taxim Square and walked to the hotel carrying my bag.

The Park Hotel is built against the side of a hill overlooking the Bosphorus. It is the only hotel that I know of which has the foyer at the top, so that the lift takes you down to your room instead of up. My room was quite a long way down on a corner overlooking a street with a café in it. The café had a gramophone and an inexhaustible supply of Turkish
caz
records. Almost level with the window and about fifty yards away was the top of a minaret belonging to a mosque lower down the hill. It had loudspeakers in it to amplify the voice of the muezzin, and his call to prayer was deafening. When Harper had made the reservation, he had obviously asked for the cheapest room in the hotel.

I changed into a clean shirt and sat down to wait.

At six o’clock the telephone rang.

“Monsieur Simpson?” It was a man’s voice with a condescending lilt to it and an unidentifiable accent. He wasn’t an Englishman or an American.