Istanbul Passage (44 page)

“How am I supposed to act?” Kay said, touching her hair, nervous.

“Like someone having tea.”

“Tea. Mata Hari used to stay here. It says in the brochure. I’ll bet she never had tea.”

“At this hour she did.”

There were only a few people in the Pera bar this early, the winter sun still warming the apricot walls. Lamps with fringe, velvet-covered cushions, the fussy luxury of an Orient Express car.

“I don’t think I could have done it.”

“What?”

“Sleep with generals. Steal things out of their pockets.”

“I don’t think that’s how it’s done now,” Leon said, a half smile.

“No?” she said quickly, another pat to her hair. “How is it done?”

“You drink that and look happy to see me.”

“And disappear when he gets here.”

Leon nodded.

“Go to my room and not know what this is about, either.” She looked down at her cup. “Happy to see you. It scares me how happy I was. I thought I wouldn’t.”

“I said I’d—”

“I know. And you did.” She looked up. “For how long?”

“One last thing. And then it’s over.”

“Until the next time.”

“No. Over.”

“Really?” she said, then started picking at her finger. “Does it work that way? Just quit? I thought it was like the army.” She took out a cigarette, something to put in her hand. “When did you decide this?”

“Today.”

“What happened today?” she said, looking up.

He shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Nothing,” she said back, lighting the cigarette. “At least you didn’t say it’s because of me. I’d have probably believed it too.” She shook the match out. “I’m an easy lay.”

“Only at first.”

She raised her eyebrows, then smiled.

“That’s it. You’re supposed to be happy to see me.”

“Better?” she said, a full smile now, then looked down. “Will you come later?”

He nodded. “Wait for me.”

“Do you know, I actually felt that. A jump. Here.” She moved a hand down to her stomach. “Just hearing that.” She knocked off some ash, fidgeting, glancing around the room. “Who’s watching anyway?”

“I don’t know,” he said, following her glance.

“I mean, who’s supposed to be watching?”

Who would be? Altan must have someone. Would Melnikov risk a meeting alone? Barksdale, still not sure of him? The barman? The waiter? The Turkish woman with the hat?

“I don’t know,” he said again, hearing himself this time, the absurdity of it. “Everybody. All the time. If you keep doing it. Someone always is. That’s what it’s like. All the time.” A conversation with himself now. You’re part of this.

“You’re going to bend that spoon.”

He looked down at his hands, his thumbs pressing against the thin neck of polished steel.

“You do that. There’s nothing in your face, and then I hear a snap and I see something’s been going on all the time.”

He dropped the spoon, looking away, someone caught.

“Tell me what you were thinking. Just now. Don’t make something up. What you were really thinking.”

He picked up the spoon again, staring at it.

“Tell me.”

“What do you do,” he said, still looking down, as if he were reading, “when there’s no right thing to do. Just the wrong thing. Either way.”

She said nothing for a minute, not expecting this.

“And you can’t avoid it anymore. Doing something.” He looked up. “What do you do?” Not really a question, not even to himself.

“I don’t know,” she said, stalling, then met his eyes. “Are you talking about me?”

“What? No,” he said, moving his hands over, catching a spill. “I didn’t mean—” He stopped. “Not you,” he said softly.

“Oh,” she said, just a sound, her face flushing, surprised again. She reached over, covering his hands. “Then what?”

Drawing him in, as if they were in bed, no secrets.

He looked at her for another second, then shook his head. “Nothing.”

“We could get up, right now, and walk out of here,” she said, still clutching his hand, her eyes fixed on him. “Just keep going. Before there’s anything more. We could do that.”

Through the doors, past one of Gülün’s men, on Altan’s leash, past the consulate. I’ve explained you. Altan waiting.

“I can’t,” he said, moving his hand away.

She kept hers on the table. “Why not? One last thing. What last thing?”

Well, what?

“We can find out who killed Frank.”

“Frank?” she said, thrown, pulling her hand back. “How? What do you mean? That’s what he’s coming here for?”

“No.”

“Are you doing this for me? Don’t. What does it matter who? Somebody, that’s all. It doesn’t change anything.”

“And next time it’ll be somebody else. Maybe me.”

Her eyes flashed, then looked away, a backing off. She drew on her cigarette to calm down.

“You think a Russian did it,” she said.

“Not this Russian. Smile again. He’s here.”

Over her shoulder, he could see Melnikov hesitate at the door, an entrance, then head straight for them. He did everything he was expcted to do—his surprise at seeing them, remembering Kay from Lily’s party, not wanting to intrude but persuaded to stay—but all of it done so clumsily that only his awkwardness made it seem authentic. Leon thought of Lily, gliding through her guests. Melnikov ordered vodka. Then, having exhausted his script, he sat waiting for Leon, a silence anyone in the room would notice.

“I’ll be right back,” Kay said. “Powder room. You’ll excuse me?”

Melnikov stood as she left, formal, then turned to Leon. “Where is he?”

“Safe. We can do it this afternoon.”

“How much do you want?” Blunt, not the playful ritual of the Bazaar.

“A trade. Your man in the consulate.”

“What man?”

“The one who killed Frank.”

“There is no such man.”

“Yes there is. Frank found him, that’s why he’s dead. So will we. Now that we know he’s there. But we’d like to speed things up. They’re both damaged goods now. An even trade.”

Melnikov thought about this. “How do I know you have him?”

“You’ll see him. I bring mine, you bring yours. Don’t come empty-handed. It’s a one-time offer. Pick the place.”

“And no money. Not even a tip for you.”

“Maybe next time.”

Melnikov stared at him, not sure how to take this.

“This isn’t hard. Take it or leave it.”

“And if I leave it?”

“Then we get both of them. Bad arithmetic for you.”

Melnikov shrugged. “But he’s already talked.”

“Only to me. Or he’d be in Washington now. He likes to wait for the right move—a chess player. But you know that. He said you were a little slow. So I guess his information’s still good.”

Melnikov sat back, annoyed.

“We’re wasting time. You’ll want guarantees. So do we. Can you bring him today?”

Melnikov hesitated, running the tip of his tongue between his lips, a wolf’s anticipation.

“I think you may be surprised,” he said finally.

Leon looked at him. Done. A life discarded in a second. Enver slipping in the bath.

“Only if you don’t show up.”

Melnikov snorted, then picked up his glass, draining it.

“You pick the place,” Leon said again.

“Well, goodness, here you are, big as life. I’ve been wondering. I thought maybe you’d gone
home
.” Barbara King, Ed Burke trailing behind.

Leon stood, kissing the cheek she offered.

“I hope you’re coming to my party. I left about a hundred messages.”

Now turning to be introduced to Melnikov, Ed hanging back, as if the physical presence of a Russian was upsetting, the bogeyman real.

“Isn’t it a little early?” Barbara said, noticing the glass. Then Kay was coming back. “Kay,” she said, stretching the syllable. “I’ve been meaning to call. Those first few days, I know what it’s like.”

And suddenly it was the crowd outside Sirkeci, everyone in motion, trying to get out of each other’s way. Melnikov wary, suspecting tricks. But about what? Kay slightly panicky, someone who’d left her post for a second and now saw people rushing through the gate. Ed flustered for no reason at all, embarrassed maybe for Leon, his interrupted tryst. Only Barbara blithely enjoying herself, eyeing Kay’s dress, taking the confusion for some kind of evidence, a vindicated house detective.

“Ed, have you met Ivan Melnikov?”

Ed now reluctant, barely managing to get through a handshake, Melnikov just as publicly diffident so that for a second Leon wondered if in fact they already knew each other. Melnikov’s face a mask, giving nothing away. I think you may be surprised.

Leon looked at the other tables, people talking to each other, or pretending to. Try not to leave the hotel, Altan had said. But how could they stay now?

“Not even one drink?” Barbara was saying. “A
citron pressé
? I never see you.”

“I’m late already,” Kay said, fluttering.

“But can’t it wait? Ten minutes.”

Leon could see her thinking, a movement in the back of her eyes.

“Not the hairdresser,” she said.

“Women and their hair,” Melnikov said, indulgent, as if nothing more could be said.

“And us. I’m sorry,” Leon said.

“You’re going to the hairdresser too?” Barbara said, playing.

“The consulate.” He turned to Melnikov. “I promised we’d be there by—”

“To meet the new guy?” Ed said, interested now. “They say—but you must have seen him. First thing. I mean he’d want—” He stopped. “What’s he like?”

Melnikov looked at Leon. Presumably his new boss, someone Leon would know.

“He’s from Washington, Ed,” Leon said, trying to be light. “You know. I think they even get their suits from the same place.”

And then they were in the lobby, Ed and Barbara left in the bar but still looking at them, everything a question mark.

“Well, now I’d better have it done,” Kay said, brushing the back of her hair.

“Mrs. Bishop,” Melnikov said, taking her hand. “A pleasure.”

Not lingering, someone keeping an appointment. He moved back so Leon could say good-bye.

“Thanks for the tea,” Kay said, one eye to the bar.

Leon took her hand. “We’ll do it again,” he said, something for Melnikov and the bellhops. Then low, only to her, “Wait for me.”

She shuddered, as if a draft had just swept through the door.

“What?”

Her eyes wide, then darting across his face. “I just had the strangest feeling.” She put her hand on his arm, holding him in place.

“What?”

She glanced toward the door, Melnikov waiting. “I don’t know,” she said, her fingers still gripping him. “Just a feeling.”

Leon looked back over his shoulder. “He’s watching.”

She dropped her hand. “All right,” she said, then caught his sleeve.
“Wait. I know. What you said before. Two wrong things. They’re not the same. They can’t be. You have to decide.”

“It’s not like that.”

“You wonder,” she said, not listening to him, “did I do the right thing? But at least you made the choice.” Her voice intense, as if no one else were in the room. Then she lowered her head. “Well, listen to me.” She let go his sleeve. “Did I do the right thing?”

“Kay—”

“I still don’t know. You’d better go,” she said, glancing to Melnikov again.

Leon looked at her, disconcerted, wanting to touch her, the room full of eyes, the clock beginning to tick again. “Wait for me,” he said, code for everything else.

“An attractive woman,” Melnikov said in the street. “No, this way.” Up to Tünel, the route already picked out. “And now a widow.”

“Yes.”

“You were close to him?”

“Not particularly.”

“I knew him. A careful man. But not with our friend Jianu. I never understood that. We didn’t know—I admit that to you. It should have been easy for you. So what happened? A man so careful.”

“He trusted the wrong people.”

“But it was you he trusted,” Melnikov said, the way it made sense to him. “And with his wife. Twice wrong, I think. And now you ask me to trust you.”

“You won’t come alone. Neither will I. We can trust each other that much. Like a time-out.”

“Time—”

“When you stop the game. A little truce. To make the trade. Then it starts again.”

“But no money,” Melnikov said, still brooding. “I thought you were keeping him for that.”

“Maybe he’s more valuable to us this way.”

“Us. And how is it more valuable to you?” He looked at Leon. “A man of many loyalties, our Jianu. And you?”

“Only one,” Leon said, not biting.

“Stars and Stripes,” Melnikov said, still looking, skeptical, his voice almost a sneer.

And what was that? A
Saturday Evening Post
cover. But that was before. Now it was someone ordering a trade.

“You’ve tried this already. With Georg. I don’t want any money.”

“So it was something else. To make you give up your prize.” Noting it, filing it away for the future. But not Leon’s, almost out of it. Just play out the hand.

“Maybe he isn’t worth as much as we thought.”

Melnikov looked at him for a moment, calculating again, then started walking, almost at the square now, the scraping sound of a tram being turned around.

“You don’t know how to talk to him,” he said flatly.

“But you do.”

“Yes. He’ll talk to us.”

Leon looked at the square, sunny, a break in the clouds, and felt the chill of a dripping basement. There’d be screams. Everybody screamed finally. Everybody talked.

People were pouring out of the funicular station.

“Just in time,” Melnikov said.

“Where are you going? We need to—”

“Have you noticed? People always take it coming up. A
jeton
? A small price, to avoid the hill. But down? So mostly empty. Private.”

The few people boarding were heading to the front car to be off first.

“You see?” Melnikov said, getting into the last car. “No one. A good place to talk. No ears.”

Except the man who just then got in, standing by the window until he caught Melnikov’s eye and backed out again, going to the
next car, an almost slapstick retreat. One of Melnikov’s own, too eager, or just somebody off the street? The buzzer rang, doors sliding shut, and they started down through the tunnel, old concrete and bare bulbs, what the way to Melnikov’s basement might look like. Just the two of them.