Dancing for the General

by Sue Star

  Anna’s heart wrenched. What could she do? Her resources were so limited here. “I’ll talk to that detective again. Tell them, honey. Maybe he can send one of his officers here to protect them.”

  “The police aren’t doing anything, he said. They were here not long ago.”

  The gauze curtain separating the other room swooshed aside just then. A young woman with a baby on her hip emerged from the second room. The curtain fell back into place behind her. “Mustafa!” she said to the boy. She said something else and ticked her head backwards. The boy—Mustafa, Umit’s son—slunk away from Priscilla’s side and retreated into the other room.

  The woman with the baby must be Umit Alekci’s widow, Anna guessed. Her eyes were red, and her face splotchy from dried tears.

  “I am so sorry for your loss,” Anna said.

  Mrs. Alekci was far too young to be a widow. And now she had two children, maybe more behind the curtain or out on the streets. It was up to her alone to raise the children and care for her elderly mothers and aunts. Alone, without her husband.

  “Ask her about the letter,” Anna said to Priscilla. “Why did her husband have the letter I wrote? And where did he get it?” She searched her memory for the few Turkish words she’d learned. “Nerede?” Where, she remembered.

  Mrs. Alekci stared at her as if Anna had sprouted a second head.

  She said it again, louder. “Nerede?” She looked Mrs. Alekci in the eye and pantomimed writing.

  The huddle of women wailed in the background, but Mrs. Alekci remained silent. Numb.

  Anna shook Priscilla’s arm. “Ask her again about the letter Umit had.” Then she pointed to herself and spoke slowly, willing the woman to understand her. “I wrote that letter. Where did your husband get it? Did Rainer give it to him?”

  Mrs. Alekci’s eyes widened, and one hand flew up to cover her mouth. “Rainer?” she whispered.

  “Yes, that’s right,” Anna said. “Evet. Yes. Rainer. Did you know him?”

  “Rainer,” Mrs. Alekci said again. Her face lit with recognition. She turned to Priscilla and spoke a stream of unintelligible words.

  “What’s she saying?” Anna finally asked.

  “She says we’ve done enough.”

  “But I haven’t done anything.”

  “Not you. My daddy. It’s kismet that we gave Fededa a job.”

  “What?” Anna startled, and her head throbbed, trying to follow the change of subject. She felt twisted inside, yanked in different directions. “What’s Fededa got to do with this? Does she have a connection to this family?”

  “Because of my daddy’s old suit. Remember?”

  “Ah.” Henry had given his old suit to Fededa, who then gave it to Umit. “What can she tell me about Rainer? I’ll pay—”

  “Rainer!” Mrs. Alekci said again, then ran from the room and swished past the gauze curtain.

  Sounds of running feet came from the other side of the curtain, and then children darted out and pressed against the huddle of women. Behind the curtain, wood scraped against wood and hinges creaked and objects thudded against walls and dropped to the floor. Finally, Mrs. Alekci reappeared, flinging aside the curtain. Ignoring the screams of the baby on her hip, she marched toward the huddle of women while spitting out angry-sounding words and shaking a wooden box in her baby-free hand.

  “What’s going on?” Anna whispered. Hysteria mounted around her, punctuated by glances of hatred aimed her way. “What does she know about Rainer?”

  “She says they’re gone.”

  “What’s gone?”

  “I don’t know. Something they must’ve kept inside the box.”

  The woman’s face twisted with anger, and tears streamed down her cheeks. She hissed and spat in Anna’s direction.

  Anna reeled, edging backwards, toward the door. She grasped Priscilla by the hand.

  Then the box came hurtling through the air, striking the wall beside the door, only inches away from Anna’s head. Anna watched it fall and break open, empty. Using her last reserve of strength, she yanked Priscilla by the arm and darted out into the hall.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  At the top of the hill, Meryem turned the corner from Yeşilyurt onto Guneş. Shade trees spilled out over the pink wall surrounding the general’s palace. The sun slipped farther to the west, sinking as did her spirits. Military men thought they could live like kings, did they? She would use her wiles to fool them all.

  Blood had already spilled.

  And there would be more.

  She could never cleanse her mind of that memory, of the blood dribbling from the Nazi’s mouth. A sweet revenge, but not enough. That bastard had deserved more than a mere death spasm crossing his face.

  Since that blood-filled day, Meryem had never moved so fast again.

  “Tereza! Elena! Andrei!” She’d cried that day, sprinting to the meadow. In her memory, she fell again and again where her siblings had fallen. She threw herself across their still bodies. Finally, at rest. Never, at peace. Frightened dreams carved horror in their unseeing eyes. Meryem heaved with sobs.

  “Help me,” Umit had cried from behind her. “This one is still alive.”

  Meryem lifted her head from her sisters’ blood, looked past the bleeding hulk of the Nazi to her older brother. With forever new eyes. Umit knelt beside their liberator. “We can do something for this one,” he urged.

  And so it began. Their bond. Their destiny.

  Together, they helped the wounded man, their savior, stand. In those bloody days when she still had one brother left, she would have done anything, short of giving her life, for that newcomer who had freed her.

  It had not been easy.

  Go back!

  They could not go back for the bodies of their sisters and brother.

  By the time Meryem and Umit and the wounded man—the man who freed them—had staggered to the shelter of the firs, it was too late. They heard the first cries of alarm from the Nazi camp they’d left behind. Other Nazis, roused from sleep. Alerted to the trouble the newcomer, their liberator, had stirred up. The unknown man had risked his life to save theirs. An angel, come to their rescue.

  Now Meryem was the last of her brothers and sisters. At times along their difficult path of survival she wished their liberator had never appeared out of the Romanian hills. Look where fate had brought her. To this pitiful fortune. Her fingers, destined for ruin. The little ones at home, and the old ones, too, starving.

  But without him, she and the rest of her family would have been dead by now, many times over. Dead, along with Tereza, Elena, and Andrei.

  And now her last brother, Umit, was gone. The revenge would begin again.

  Perhaps tonight... It was up to her to use her cleverness to feed the family. But she could not stop thinking of revenge. Revenge, in the form of a gun.

  * * * * *

  Anna clattered down the steps. Clutching Priscilla’s hand, she stepped out into the narrow street. Downhill was easier going, and they tripped and slid along the cobbles, dodging people and startling animals.

  She wondered what had once filled Mrs. Alekci’s now empty box. Mention of Rainer had led the woman to seek the thing she’d apparently kept inside that box, the thing that was now missing. Rainer’s medallion.

  Her head pounded with each footfall. That woman had wanted to hurt her. Perhaps her aim, hurling the box, was deliberately off target, so as not to actually hurt anyone, but the truth remained that she wanted to hurt Anna. Was it just because of grief, or was there something more? Somehow, Mrs. Alekci blamed Anna for the loss of her husband. Anna had seen the blame in her eyes as clearly as if it had been her language.

  Had Mrs. Alekci blamed Anna enough that she sent her son, Mustafa, to Ozturk Bey’s shop to hit her over the head and steal her purse? If Mustafa had been the boy who’d done that, then he’d now recovered Rainer’s Saint Christopher’s medal. Perhaps that’s what had been kept in the box. Anna slowed her pace, turned, and looked over her shoulde
r, hesitating. Wondering. No, she wouldn’t go back there, not now.

  Since Anna didn’t have language on her side, she would have to come up with a new plan. One thing was sure, there was a connection between the Alekcis and Rainer.

  A woman’s voice called to them from the crowd, bringing Anna’s attention back to the present moment. “Fancy finding you here.” It was Fran. She sauntered closer, and then apparently read the consternation on Anna’s face. She said, “Everything okay?”

  “I’m staaaarving,” said Priscilla.

  Anna glanced at her wristwatch. “It’s late, and we’ve missed lunch. We must find a cab right away.”

  “It’s never too late.” Fran grinned. “I know a place nearby that’s good. I could use a bite to eat, too. Come on, I’ll take you.”

  Anna had to admit that she felt grateful to find a familiar face in the midst of her recent turmoil. Mrs. Alekci had a right to her anger, on account of her grief, but still, Anna was glad to escape its reach. This made twice in one day that Fran had rescued her.

  Fran led the way to her car, parked a block away, and several minutes later, they pulled up in front of a downtown hotel. A flush rose to Anna’s cheeks, reminded of Hayati’s invitation to dinner in one of Ankara’s modern, new hotels. Maybe this one.

  They chose a lunch table outside in the closed-off area of a sidewalk. Waiters moved in and out, bringing bottled mineral water, crusty rolls, balls of butter, and olives the size of walnuts. Animal smells wafted on the air, and wooden wheels of a cart creaked nearby. In the distance, a horn honked. Nothing made sense.

  Priscilla tore into her bread, and Anna crunched hers more delicately. She hadn’t realized how hungry she’d been.

  Fran narrowed her eyes and watched them eat. “Why’d you run off like that this morning when I told you to wait?”

  “You mean from the embassy? We had things to do. Places to go. Promises to keep.” Anna smiled at Priscilla and her chipmunk cheeks.

  “And you thought you could get it done by yourself?”

  “Is that why you sent Hayati after me? To help me?” Or not. Anna wondered if his real purpose had been to prevent Anna from fulfilling hers. If so, it hadn’t worked. She’d found the Alekci family on her own, without his help.

  “I didn’t send him after you,” Fran said.

  “He said you did.”

  Fran leaned back in her seat and pursed her lips. Then she dug in her bag and pulled out her leather cigarette case. “You want one?” She slid out a cigarette and tossed the case across the table.

  “I still don’t smoke.”

  Fran laughed.

  But Anna noticed that Fran avoided her counter claim of what Hayati had said. One of them was covering up. Lying. Hayati? Or Fran?

  Fran slowly lit her cigarette, as if the action gave her time to think. “So,” she said, finally blowing out a smoke ring, “did you? Did you get your tasks done that you wanted to do?”

  “Indeed. In spite of the accident.”

  “What accident?”

  Anna told her, describing the events that led up to being hit on the head with a brass candelabrum. As she went on with the story, Fran’s cigarette burned down to a stub.

  Anna finished her tale, and the waiter placed a plate in front of her. Lemony lamb smells made her mouth water.

  “Yum!” Priscilla said, bouncing in her seat.

  Fran jabbed the stub of her cigarette into a brass ashtray. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I’ll take you to the embassy doctor as soon as we finish eating.”

  “As I told Hayati, I’m fine. Really.”

  “Nonetheless, that’s where we are going next. Eat up.”

  Anna sighed and gave in to the savory flavors. She suspected no one argued with Fran. “Lucky for us you showed up when you did,” she said between bites. “What made you come to Ozturk Bey’s store today? Don’t you have to work?”

  “I am working,” Fran said. “Does he scare you that much?”

  Anna felt a flush rise. What on earth did she mean? It didn’t look as if this efficient woman, Paul Wingate’s assistant, was working. Unless... Her job was to follow Anna.

  Anna took a sip of water. “So you heard?”

  “Heard what?” Priscilla asked, suddenly more interested in their conversation than her lunch.

  “Mr. Orhon wants to take your aunt out to dinner,” Fran said with a chuckle.

  “Oh, that.” Priscilla’s attention shifted from her plate to a nearby donkey standing asleep under a tree.

  “Why don’t you go with him?” Fran asked.

  “Oh, I couldn’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know him.”

  “Isn’t that the point of going out with someone? To get to know him better?”

  “It’s been such a long time since I’ve done that sort of thing. I guess I’ve forgotten how.”

  “Not much to it. Maybe you don’t want to remember. Maybe on account of Akers?”

  “Have you found anything about him yet?” Anna didn’t think it very likely that Fran had tracked her to Ozturk Bey’s shop just to volunteer information about Rainer, but she held out hope anyway.

  “Nothing, really,” Fran said. “But it’s curious. Matheson, over at JUSMAT, said that if they have anything on him it would’ve been in one certain file. And it seems that file has gone missing.”

  “Someone stole it?”

  Fran shrugged. “He didn’t say that. Only that it’s missing. Misfiled, probably. They’re looking.”

  “Well, thanks for checking.” Anna felt her hopes sink. But then, there would be no reason for a file to exist on Rainer in an American military office. Rainer had volunteered with the Brits. And died before he’d ever had a chance to don an American uniform.

  “Want some advice?” Fran said.

  Anna looked up, unsure of how long she’d been lost in her gloomy thoughts. Apparently, Fran took that as an affirmative, as she went on.

  “Talk to Hayati,” Fran said. “He might know a thing or two about our files. After all, he’s worked with Henry.”

  Anna tipped her head sideways, trying to understand. “What does Henry have to do with it?”

  “We’re a community. We all work together.” Fran motioned the waiter for the check, and then pulled crumpled lira notes from her purse. “And besides, it will help you from becoming homesick.”

  “I’m not homesick.”

  “Not yet. You might feel differently after you’ve been here long enough. It’s not easy to give up what’s familiar.” Fran scraped her chair back and watched Priscilla lead the way, winding past tables. “The children adapt better. Life around them, right here, today, this is what’s familiar to them. The world of their parents is as unfamiliar to the kids as this place is to their parents.”

  That helped explain Priscilla, Anna thought. She was worried about her parents, traumatized about all that she’d seen that a child shouldn’t even have to know about, and worst of all, she didn’t think she could talk to Anna about any of it. “I’m a stranger to her,” she murmured to Fran.

  They followed Priscilla out to the sidewalk. “My advice?” Fran said. “Find someone to talk to, someone who will make things feel familiar here for you. Then again, maybe I’m wrong.”

  Anna doubted that Fran was ever wrong. Even so, she felt drawn to Fran, in spite of her suspicions. Or maybe because of them. They shared a bond of secrets.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Anna was grateful for the ride, even if it meant a detour to the embassy doctor. An hour later, when Fran’s car stopped in front of the yellow stucco house, Anna thanked her and assured her that she would indeed take it easy. At least until the party later that night at the Wingates’.

  Priscilla skipped away to her playroom off the kitchen. She needed to assemble gear, she’d told Anna, for the spaceship game she and Tommy liked to play. They were planning to blast off to an unknown planet, and tonight was their chance to continue the game. It was th
eir last chance before school started next week, heralding the end of summer.

  Anna smiled at her niece’s imagination and climbed the stairs to her attic bedroom. She hoped to get rid of her headache before her gossipy neighbor Cora could stimulate brand new levels of pain for her at the party tonight. She wanted nothing more than to change into shorts and stay in her room to rest and brood over the day’s events. She hardly knew who or where she was anymore.

  Only the week before, she would never have imagined that someone could target her in an attack. And now she saw several possible explanations. Perhaps Umit’s killer thought she could identify him. Or maybe he thought she had the letter, and for some unknown reason, he wanted it, too. After all, he’d killed to get it—or to keep her from getting it.

  But those explanations assumed that it had been Umit’s killer who’d attacked her today. And if that was true, then he’d hired Umit’s son to distract her with coffee while he somehow, sight unseen, had slipped into Ozturk Bey’s trinket shop with a brass candelabrum...

  No, she didn’t think any of that was very likely.

  Her head throbbed.

  She needed facts to help her sort it out. The fact was that the Saint Christopher’s medal was missing from her purse after today’s attack. Perhaps that’s all her attacker was after. He’d known she had it, and he wanted it.

  Or maybe he was a she.

  Cora Wingate was the only person who’d known where the medal was. No, maybe not the only one. The soldier next door might’ve seen Anna drop the medallion in her purse. He’d been spying on them from the fence.

  Anna moved swiftly to her bedroom window that looked out over the general’s yard. The old puttering soldier wasn’t there now. Nor Rainer. She’d imagined him the night before, but here was another fact: someone had been down there in the middle of the night, looking up at her. Someone who’d reminded her of Rainer.

  But they weren’t the only ones who’d seen the necklace. Her neighbor Ahmet, that Turkish widower about to remarry, had seen it when he came to the door with Priscilla and Gulsen. Although, he hadn’t known she’d put it in her purse. Or did he? Truth was, anyone could’ve been spying on her during that martini episode with Cora. Yaziz’s man, supposedly to protect her. The smoker by the lamppost on the street corner the night before. Erkmen, Yaziz had called him. Erkmen had followed her to the bazaar today. As Yaziz had.