The Dardanelles Conspiracy

by Alan Bardos

  Pichler, the Head of the Commissariat, was about to leave for his lunch when Breitner interviewed him about the missing champagne and showed little concern, considering the gravity of the situation.

  ‘Come, come my dear Breitner, the term ‘taken’ is a slight exaggeration.’

  ‘His Excellency Baron von Grubber would disagree with you in the strongest possible terms. He has tasked me with retrieving the missing beverage.’ Breitner said slipping easily back into the persona of an intelligence operative.

  ‘How absurd, these things take care of themselves.’ Pichler tried to step passed Breitner.

  ‘I believe the ambassador himself has taken an interest in the matter.’ Breitner said allowing himself to reveal some of the cold furry he felt and Pichler finally dropped his indifference.

  ‘The railway has provided a chit for the missing champagne.’

  ‘Might I trouble you for that document?’

  ‘Oh, really this is too much.’ Pichler wrung his hands and began to rummage through his bin.

  Armed with the chit, Breitner followed the rich blue of the Bosporus to the pink and white striped façade of Sirkeci station. Breitner pushed his way through the crowds of people on the station’s marble forecourt, clambering to leave Constantinople before the British fleet arrived.

  The chit had a number on it, but nothing else to say who or what it related to. However, it made sense to the Attendant in the lost property office.

  ‘This shipment has been impounded. It is all quite correct.’

  Breitner thought he detected an element of bluff in the man’s body language. He suspected the term ‘impounded’ covered a multitude of sins.

  ‘You have allowed diplomatic baggage to be tampered with?’ Breitner asked.

  ‘With respect, it was not labelled as diplomatic baggage and was subject to railway regulations,’ the Attendant responded. Breitner had no idea if he was telling the truth. The man was too well practised in this kind of thing to be upset by an official of the Austro-Hungarian Embassy.

  ‘Can you at least tell me who impounded the shipment and where it might be now?’

  ‘Alas, I cannot. All the paperwork has been sent to the party in question. It is for them to compensate you. Not the railway.’ The Attendant screwed up his face regretfully.

  ‘I appreciate that none of this is your fault, it is not a matter of compensation. I just wish to recover the shipment. If I knew who the party in question was…’ Breitner placed a note in front of the Attendant who brushed it up with a graceful sweep of his hand.

  ‘You understand that I did not wish to tell you who impounded the shipment, in case there was a diplomatic incident or scandal of some kind.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I have no intention of making a scandal out of a farce,’ Breitner said wearily.

  ‘Very well, it was impounded by a German diplomatic courier.’

  ‘There has either been some kind of mix up or the Germans have just taken the champagne, either way it is gone.’ Which Breitner accepted was his fault when he reported to von Grubber.

  ‘This is a disaster, this is an outrage! A slight by our German allies in Constantinople, who think it right to demean our proud empire in such a manner! The Ambassador’s champagne has been taken and you stand there insolently staring at me, Major Breitner.’

  ‘It was a German diplomatic courier. He was unlikely to have been a member of the German diplomatic mission in Constantinople.’

  ‘THAT IS NEITHER HERE NOR THERE! You must go to the German Embassy and identify the culprit, so we can lodge a formal complaint and begin proceedings to recover our champagne.’

  Chapter 19

  Esther frowned, the arrangements for the meeting had been rushed and it was showing in the careless presentation of the food.

  She'd reserved a private room in her favourite restaurant, near the Galata Bridge, and ordered the usual selection of Turkish cuisine for visitors to the city who wanted a taste of the exotic.

  Esther rearranged the plates of food. It was all far from the exacting standards she would have liked. The splendour of the restaurant’s domed ceiling, decorated in bright blue and turquoise tiles, at least added a taste of decadence to make diners feel like a sultan in his harem.

  Esther gazed out of a latticed window onto the turbulent stretch of water where the Golden Horn met the Bosphorus. Lights from ferry boats and the surrounding city glistened on the water, adding a glowing silhouette to the night sky over Asia. It was a view that never failed to impress.

  The restaurant was an excellent place to entertain prospective investors from Europe. In the past Abraham would accompany her as adviser and chaperone, acting as a male presence for businessmen unused to negotiating with a woman.

  She listened to the lyrical call to prayers from the New Mosque and then gathered herself as Abraham arrived.

  ‘Good evening,’ Abraham spoke in German. 'Please accept my apologies if we are late. I had to drag our friend here out of the hotel bar.'

  Abraham stepped aside and Esther saw a tall, rugged man, with strong, sharp features and a bored, supercilious expression. Her overall impression was pretty, but soiled. Just the sort of man to cause a stir in her wayward little sister.

  'Miss Weisz, may I present Herr Ernst von Jager.’

  Swift, or von Jager as they were calling him, looked alarmed when he saw her. ‘Miss Weisz?’

  ‘Yes, Esther Weisz.’ She offered him her hand.

  Swift's bored expression vanished and a raffish grin spread over his face, which faded into a sneer as he took her hand and kissed it. He looked about to say something, but Abraham interrupted.

  ‘Miss Weisz is here as a partner in this venture, she will be treated with the utmost respect.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Swift said, his intentions sounding anything but respectful. As a woman Esther thought he was the most untrustworthy person she'd ever encountered. She didn’t doubt for a minute that Kati would have been intrigued.

  ‘Shall we?’ Esther asked and led them to the table.

  Swift ate with gusto. He was certainly a man of hearty appetites. Esther was sure that he was the person Kati had known in Sarajevo, but there was one test she knew would prove it for certain. ‘Would you care for a burek?’

  He looked pale for a moment and stopped eating. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I asked if you would like some burek, it’s spiced meat in pastry.’

  ‘It would be the only thing that he didn’t care for,’ Abraham commented dryly.

  Swift shrugged at Abraham and glanced at the view of the Golden Horn. ‘This food – this magical place is all very different from the mud and bully beef I’m used to.’ He looked directly into Esther’s eyes. ‘As it happens, I do rather care for burek. The last time I had one was in a park in Sarajevo and a dashed pretty, if not a trifle opinionated, girl was sharing it with me.’

  Esther took a sip of water to hide her smile. Kati had written to her of the encounter.

  Abraham looked at his watch. ‘Shall we get down to business?’

  ‘Here – now?’ Swift asked.

  ‘It is perfectly safe. Miss Weisz and I have conducted business here before. This will appear no different,’ Abraham said.

  ‘It is Miss Weisz that I’m concerned about,’ Swift said bluntly. ‘I might be mistaken, but I’m sure I met her sister in Sarajevo, before the war, and she was Hungarian. Aren’t they on the German side? What’s more, her sister worked for a Hungarian spymaster.’

  ‘Dear Laszlo was not a spymaster!’ The thought amused Esther. ‘And Kati did not work for him.’

  ‘Laszlo! So … so you know him?’ Swift stood up, looking around.

  ‘Yes, of course, we were once engaged to be married. In fact, he called on me only the other day,’ Esther said.

  To her surprise Swift laughed and sat down. ‘Now that is just ridiculous. You expect me to believe that you, you who are so… how could you have been engaged to someone so prudish and joyless?’


  Esther wasn’t sure if she should be flattered or insulted. ‘Laszlo hasn’t always been as he appears.’

  Swift turned back to Abraham. ‘Look, I don’t know what your game is, but I don’t understand why a Hungarian would want Turkey out of the war. The fact that Breitner is here and that she admits to being in league with him only goes to prove she can’t be trusted.’

  ‘Your view of sides is very primitive,’ Abraham said. ‘I am a patriot, however like many in the Ottoman Empire my sympathies are for the British and are against the elements in my government that have brought us into a war that will surely destroy us. Miss Weisz, like myself, wants this barbarity to end. So we can all live our lives in peace.’

  ‘And I stand to save my father’s company if the negotiations succeed with the Turkish government,’ Esther added solemnly.

  ‘If you are Kati’s sister, I don’t believe that you would betray your country over a business deal.’ Swift touched his jacket pocket.

  ‘My mother was Belgian… I love Hungary,’ Esther said, pointedly trying to control her fury. She hadn’t expected to have to explain herself. ‘The only thing to do is try to cause a situation where both sides come to the negotiating table. Maybe then my father can finish his precious railway.’

  Swift held his hands up apologetically. Her outburst had probably embarrassed him. ‘I see, that makes sense. And what of Breitner? The last thing we need is him sniffing around.’

  ‘Have no fear, Laszlo knows nothing of this, and we have not parted on the best of terms – he will not be “sniffing around”,’ Esther said.

  ‘He did mention you, in Sarajevo. I can’t believe he let you slip through his fingers.’

  ‘Honour is more important than anything,’ Esther said.

  ‘If we are content that everyone is working for a common purpose, may we proceed?’ Abraham said, and carried on without waiting for a reply. ‘The first step in our mission is to call on Talat Pasha, to establish how receptive he might be to meeting the Grand Rabbi. Miss Weisz is acquainted with Talat Pasha and will provide an introduction and a little subterfuge, masking our intentions to anyone who might be watching.'

  ‘How acquainted are you?’ Swift asked.

  ‘My father and I have been guests at his house a number of times,’ Esther’s father had been determined that she know about every aspect of the business, but she had managed to sneak in a little reminder of her past. ‘I also took his photograph, which led me to take portraits of a number of his fellow ministers.’

  ‘Wouldn’t it be better if I went with you, Abraham?’ Johnny asked. ‘Do we really want to risk Miss Weisz in this? I mean, if it turned nasty. Involving a woman and all that.’

  ‘I’m not acquainted with Talat Pasha,’ Abraham said, ‘or as inventive as Miss Weisz.’

  ‘If you went to see Talat with a banker it might raise questions,’ Esther said. ‘Whereas I, a renowned society photographer and empty-headed female who will do nothing more than prattle about embroidery and brocade. Can call on the Minister of the Interior with one of my admirers and no one would think anything of it.'

  'As you’re posing as a German diplomat people will assume that you asked for an introduction, to ingratiate yourself with one of the most powerful men in the Ottoman Empire.' Abraham steepled his hands under his chin. 'Once you have tested the waters, and if our overtures are accepted, then the Grand Rabbi will discuss the details and arrange a meeting with the official representatives your government has sent.’

  ‘I’m to be the forlorn hope rushing into the breach, to spring any mine that might be in place?’ Swift said, sounding rattled, and Abraham exchanged a concerned look with Esther.

  ‘I’m given to understand that is your role in this operation,’ Abraham said. ‘But let us hope that it doesn’t come to that.’

  ‘Yes indeed.’ Esther glared at Swift. ‘Especially as I will be with you.’

  ‘If there is any unpleasantness, Miss Weisz will be protected by her nationality and a large bribe from my bank.’ Abraham sighed. ‘I’m afraid I won’t be able to extend the same courtesy to an enemy agent.’

  ‘Any “unpleasantness” could however seriously damage my reputation and business. Please therefore proceed with great care and tact.’ Esther was not impressed by Swift’s manner, and the idea of paying a social call, with him, on one of the most slippery men in the Ottoman Empire did not fill her with hope, forlorn or otherwise. ‘I’ve made an appointment for us to call on Talat tomorrow evening. I will collect you from your hotel at eight o’clock.’

  Chapter 20

  Johnny strolled out of his hotel into a storm and climbed into the square passenger compartment of a grey limousine.

  Esther Weisz greeted him with an arched eyebrow and a condescending smile. ‘Why didn’t you get the doorman to hold an umbrella over you?’

  'I’ve spent the past few months getting rained on. A drop more doesn’t make much difference,’ Johnny replied as the car made its way down the Grand Rue de Pera.

  ‘Yes, I’m sure.’ Esther frowned. 'However, if this is going to succeed you need to act a little less like a British officer and a little more like a German diplomat.'

  Esther was wrapped in a woollen shawl that contrasted with her elegant evening dress. He searched for Kati in her sister's strong profile. She had the same long auburn hair, the same oval face and cute upturned nose, but this was not his Kati. Esther was sensible, older and bookish.

  ‘Isn’t that a bit much, having a doorman follow me about with an umbrella? And aren’t we rather drawing attention to ourselves in this car?’ Johnny asked.

  ‘Yes, that is the point,’ Esther said. ‘Remember you are an eligible young diplomat and I’m a prospective wife, taking you to see the Minister of the Interior. We’re trying to impress each other. I think I’m winning.’

  Johnny laughed. ‘That's the sort of thing your sister would have said.’

  ‘I taught her well.’ Esther huddled under her shawl and looked reassured by its embrace. 'Were you and Kati close, Mr Swift?’

  ‘Not as close as I would have liked, unfortunately… Probably my fault, I made some very poor choices.’

  ‘Yes, that doesn’t surprise me,’ Esther answered, not unkindly.

  They drove onto a wide bridge. Men were dangling fishing rods over the side, hunched under the rain that began to drum down on the car. Johnny could make out elegant domes and minarets dominating the skyline on the other side of the bridge.

  He began to shiver and took his jacket off. The rain had soaked through and tried to avoid Esther's knowing look. She took off her shawl and wrapped him in it. He could feel her warmth on it.

  ‘Thank you.’ Johnny reached out to take her hand and she snatched it away.

  Esther gave him a hard look. ‘You have to be on top form when we see Talat. It’s bad enough that you have been drinking. Don’t try and deny it.’

  ‘Why would I deny it? It’s the only thing that’s kept me alive so far.’

  The car reached the end of the bridge and nudged its way into a crowded medieval maze of shops and stalls, making slow progress against the evening chaos of the old town. Immersed in the smoke of chestnut sellers, the car weaved its way around a mass of hawkers and merchants.

  ‘This is no time to be melodramatic, Johnny. Mehmed Talat Pasha is a very savvy man. He started as a telegraph clerk and now he has the power to turn the tide of the war.’

  Johnny looked at Esther and waited for the cries of a street trader to fade before answering. ‘Yes, but aren’t we just making a polite social call to see how things stand?’

  ‘The point that I’m trying to make is that everything that Talat has, he got for himself. He’s not going to risk it all on your word, so please try and act with a hint of decorum.’

  The great orange and black domes of Hagia Sophia, rose majestically above them as the car followed the wall of the Topkapi palace. Its engine straining as it turned into a crooked cobblestone street of dilap
idated wooden houses.

  A policeman standing in the middle of the road stopped the car to examine their papers and then waved them past. To Johnny’s surprise the car pulled up outside one of the houses.

  ‘Talat Pasha lives here? He certainly hasn’t forgotten his humble origins.’

  ‘He likes to stay in touch with the people,’ Esther said, and stepped out of the car.

  Talat's house was far from the sumptuous palace that Johnny would have thought worthy of a Turkish pasha. His study was equally as plain as the exterior of the house. The only decorations were a few simple prints of Istanbul on the walls, a divan and some rugs that had certainly seen better days. If that wasn’t reminder enough of Talat’s past, a rectangular desk in the corner had a telegraph machine on it.

  ‘Are you sure this is the right person to speak to? Not exactly luxurious, is it?’ Johnny said, disappointed.

  ‘What were you expecting? Concubines and Turkish delight?’ Esther asked.

  ‘That would have been nice.’

  A window in the wall behind the desk snapped open and a woman in her mid-twenties peered out at them, through a grate. Johnny bowed, in impression of a German diplomat, and the window snapped back rudely.

  ‘That was Talat’s wife,’ Esther said, ‘and no, she won’t be joining us.’

  ‘I see. Shouldn’t you go and join her? I mean, being a woman. It might be unwise to cause offence.’

  'An exception is made in my case – Papa insisted – but ultimately there was no other way to take Talat’s portrait if I was not in the same room as him and in the end he decided to let me stay.’

  The door opened and a large, powerfully built man in his forties strode in, wearing a fez and grey pyjamas, apparently expecting an informal visit from an old acquaintance. ‘My dear Esther Hanim, you are most welcome.’

  ‘Thank you, Your Excellency. May I present…’

  ‘Oh yes, von Jager, the German diplomat of your acquaintance, from Sofia,’ Talat said.