by Joseph Kanon
“Jack, I’ll see you later,” Dorothy said, picking up a pad.
“Isn’t she something? All business. Well, that’s right, I guess. Nice to meet you,” he said, shaking hands again. “Sooner you wrap things up here, the better I’ll like it. You take good care of my girl here.”
“Jack—”
“We’ll do our best.”
“Hell of a thing, right in the streets. You knew him, I guess?” Wheeler said, looking at Leon.
“Just from around,” Leon said. “Everybody knew Tommy.”
Wheeler waited, expecting more, then nodded. “Well, I’ll get out of your hair. Later,” he said, a two-finger salute to Dorothy.
“I have the list you wanted,” she said to Leon, barely nodding at Wheeler, shooing him out with her eyes. “I’m not sure what you meant, though, by Athens. Mr. King never called Athens.”
“His embassy contact there.”
“There was no embassy. Greece was occupied,” she said. “Well, not now, of course.”
“He had no contact there?” Someone for Alexei, once he was over the border.
“I can get the general number if you need to talk to somebody. Is that it?”
“I thought there’d be a liaison. To this office.” Using the same cover.
“Not that I know of. We deal with Turkey, that’s all. He went to Ankara, sometimes. Izmir, once, to look at companies. But not Greece. Not as long as I’ve been here.” She paused, her hands fluttering, brushing back a stray hair. “Can I ask why you’re asking? I mean, I’m not sure I understand what you’re doing here. Everyone’s nervous as a cat since the—since Mr. King died. The police asking questions and Mr. Bishop coming in and now—” She stopped.
“And now me. Have a seat. I’m not sure I know what I’m doing here, either. Snooping, I guess. That’s what Frank wants anyway.”
“On Mr. King? He was the victim.”
“But not of a robbery. You know that. So I need to know anything that might—” He looked at her. “I need your help. You knew him better than anybody.”
“What makes you think that?” she said suddenly, head flying up, so unguarded that for a moment their eyes met and he knew, both of them silent with surprise. They looked at each other, bargaining. Another piece of Tommy’s secret life. Weekends somewhere? Here in the office? Tommy, of all people. Leon imagined her without her glasses, taking the pins out of her hair. Or did she regret it? Some moment of weakness that now threatened to blow up in her face. Shooing Wheeler away.
“Working with him, I mean,” Leon said. Safe, between us.
She looked away.
“Both jobs.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do. Your husband’s on the embassy staff. He’d have security clearance. So you’d be vetted too. It was a natural fit.”
“I was an American wife with time on my hands. And I can type eighty words a minute.”
He held up his hand before she could say more. “Don’t. I worked for him too. Or did you already know that?”
They exchanged looks again, then she crossed her arms over her chest, a truce.
“You seem to think he—confided in me. It wasn’t like that. I did the work, that’s all. We didn’t talk about it.”
“Never?”
“Never,” she said, meeting his glance, setting a boundary.
“But you wouldn’t have to. Everything would go through you.”
“Not everything. He kept some things to himself.” A faint smile. “He was like that.” She looked up, making a decision, a direct stare. “What do you want to know?”
“We were bringing someone out. You knew that?”
She hesitated, then nodded.
“Who else did?”
“I don’t know. No one.”
“But someone must have.”
“Mr. Bishop took the operation file. You could look there.”
“I did. How about an appointment book?”
A sly smile, almost conspiratorial. “He never asked for that.”
“In my office, Turhan’s got my whole life there. Day by day.”
“I’ll get it,” she said, standing up.
“And a key for this by any chance?” he said, pointing down to the locked drawer.
She nodded then turned to go, taking off her glasses at the same time. Pleasant, no more, an ordinary woman, with enough sense to know better. Then Tommy had made her feel special. The mysteries of other people.
She came back with the calendar and a pink telephone slip.
“Mrs. King called,” she said with a straight face. “Wants to set up a time. To go over his things.”
“Okay.”
“He never kept anything at home, you know,” she said, slightly disapproving. “Said it was safer here.”
Leon took the appointment book.
“We locked the files at night. So the cleaning staff— He was strict about that. I know he liked a drink, but he didn’t talk, not even to me. Not about the work.”
“What did he talk about,” Leon said, leafing through pages. Hour after hour, all the scheduled appointments, but not random meetings in the hall, or a late drink at the Park.
“What do you mean?”
“The war? Politics?” he said easily, an idle question.
“Politics?” she said. “Tommy? I don’t even know whether he was Democrat or Republican. It never came up. You mean here? In Turkey? Well, it’s just one party, isn’t it, so there’s not much to say. I don’t think he cared about any of that. This office, you couldn’t. You have to deal with all kinds.”
“Mm.” He moved his finger over the page, shaking his head. “Look at this. He knew everybody in the building.”
“Well, the commercial department, you do,” she said, smiling a little. “But that was him too, what he was like.”
“The groom at every wedding.”
“What?”
“An expression.”
She started to turn away, suddenly at a loss. “Don’t forget to call Mrs. King,” she said, then handed him a key. “For the drawer.” She waited while he opened it.
“As I thought,” he said, bringing up a bottle. “He must have pouched this one in. You can’t get it here, since the war.”
“He brought it with him. I never saw him drink it, though. Too expensive. He was careful about money. His, anyway. Expense account—that was something else. I brought that too, by the way.” She indicated another folder. “Mr. Bishop didn’t ask for that, either. Maybe you’ll find something there. Well, I’ll get back to the phone.” She fingered the expense folder, stalling. “You asked what we used to talk about? The house, sometimes. The one they were going to have when they got home. Him and Mrs. King. Big. With a powder room downstairs. He said it gave a house class, a powder room. You didn’t have to go upstairs. That’s what he used to talk about. To me.”
Leon looked up, caught by the break in her voice.
“So I guess he was saving it up for that,” she said, nodding at the bottle. “Anyway.”
“What are these?” Leon pulled some folders from the back of the drawer.
Dorothy opened one. “So that’s where he put them. I wondered. He didn’t want them with the rest of the files.”
“Why?” Leon said, rifling through. “Cross-refs to the Joint Distribution Committee? War Refugee Board?”
“He said one day they’d be history, but right now they were—not illegal exactly, just classified. He was proud of these. You know, people thought they knew what he was like.” She looked over at him. “But there was more to him than that. The side he didn’t let people see.”
Leon raised his head.
“Mr. Hirschmann, from the War Refugee Board, brought a boatload of children out. Tommy got the transit visas for the train. Otherwise they wouldn’t have been allowed to go. Strictly speaking, the ambassador wasn’t supposed to ask for something like that, so Mr. Hirschmann got Tommy to do it. Three hundred dollars each. I never forgot
that. Imagine, selling children. He helped them lease some Turkish ships too. That’s how he knew about you. Your wife was working for one of the groups getting refugees out. Is she still doing that?”
“No.”
“But that’s how he heard. That you went to Ankara.” She nodded again at the expense folder. “Good luck with this,” she said, looking straight at him, her voice lower. “He wasn’t always the most sensitive man in the world, but he had this side too. He didn’t deserve to be killed.”
Leon waited, feeling a burning in the tips of his ears, not sure how to answer. “Nobody does,” he said finally.
“No, that’s right. Nobody does.”
He suddenly imagined her entering a jury box, next to Barbara, next to Frank, all of them looking at him, taken in. The lies got easier, one leading to the next until you believed them yourself. The way it must have been for Tommy, lying to all of them too.
A few minutes later Frank came in, looking pleased.
“Take a look. Gülün actually came through with something. They’ve traced the other gun.”
“What other gun?”
“Tommy had two on him. Now why the hell he needed two never made any sense.”
“No,” Leon said carefully, seeing Tommy plant them, one in Alexei’s dead hand, one in his.
“And look. It turns out it’s Romanian.”
“The one he fired?”
“No. That was Turkish.”
“Turkish? He didn’t have his own?”
Frank nodded. “But a Turkish gun couldn’t be traced back here. No American connection, if anything happened.”
“Where did he get it?”
“Gülün says it’s like buying a pack of cigarettes. Not this baby, though,” Frank said, poking his finger at the police report. “Not so easy to pick up a Romanian gun.” He looked up. “Unless you happened to be meeting a Romanian.”
“So you think it’s Jianu’s?”
“Don’t you? Maybe Tommy frisks him—he should have—and, oh, look, maybe we’ll just hold onto this until— Too bad, in a way. Meant Jianu was unarmed when the Russians got there. They plug Tommy and the guy hasn’t got a chance.”
Leon listened to him fill in the scenario in his head, detail by plausible detail.
“So where does that get us?”
“Not very far. But not wondering about two guns anymore, either. So one less thing.” His eye caught the open folder on Leon’s desk. “Oh, the kids,” he said. “He kept copies? He wasn’t supposed to.”
“You can read upside down? Quite a talent.”
“The letterhead. Hirschmann had his own.” He picked up a sheet, glancing at it. “So now you know. Not that it matters anymore, I guess.”
“Now I know what?”
“What you were carrying,” Frank said easily. “Tommy always used you for the Hirschmann deals.”
“These?” Leon said. “Why? Why not use the pouch?”
“He never explained? Distance the ambassador. You send it by pouch, it’s official. Logged in. Distributed. This way Steinhart could say he never knew. What did you think you were carrying? The Allied invasion plan?”
“No,” Leon said, looking away, oddly embarrassed, remembering the train, alert in his compartment, feeling important. He picked up a folder. “War Refugee Board? He had to be distanced from that?”
“You have to remember what it was like last year. The Bulgarians, the Romanians—Hitler doesn’t look like a winner anymore. Everybody wants some way to look good to the Allies, for after. You know even Eichmann approached us? Wanted to trade trucks for the Budapest Jews. That didn’t go anywhere—sending war matériel to the Nazis?” He touched the folder, reminiscing. “But Hirschmann got a waiver from Morgenthau in Treasury. Otherwise, he’d be trading with the enemy—which is what it was, technically, you’ve got money changing hands. So he could make deals. He says he got fifteen thousand out. Maybe less, he likes to exaggerate. But we’re not supposed to know. Nothing in the pouch. So Tommy sends you. No embassy connection, and if anybody finds out, well, you’ve got a wife in the business. It’d be natural, you being involved in this.”
“For her,” Leon said, trying to keep his voice neutral. Tommy using Anna too. “And if the Turks—”
“We would have protected you,” Frank said. “What the hell, you were doing it for humanitarian reasons.”
“Whether I knew it or not.” He stared at the folders. “So that’s all it ever was? What I did?”
“No,” Frank said, looking at him. “Not all. But you were perfect for this, what with your wife—”
“He thought of everything,” Leon said, brooding. “All this, just to cover Tommy’s ass.”
“Well, Steinhart’s. The embassy couldn’t go near this.”
“Why not?”
“The Russians. As usual. The minute Steinhart talks to anybody on the Axis side, the Russians think we’re trying to make a separate peace. Before they get there. Which is probably what Antonescu did want, but all we’re asking is to let some kids out. Hirschmann, the Russians are suspicious because they always are, that’s what they’re like. So the grunt work, it’s better if it’s somebody they do know, who won’t make them nervous.” He opened his hand. “Tommy. They know what he does and it’s not negotiating peace.”
“They know him? How?”
“When we first set up here, there was some crazy idea we’d exchange information, you know, ally to ally, but that turned out to be a one-way street, the way it usually does with them, so there wasn’t a hell of a lot that got exchanged. But everybody kept pretending it did. Anyway, Tommy was our side. So they knew him.”
Leon’s cheek jumped, an involuntary tic. “He met with the Russians? On a regular basis?”
“At first. Then off and on, just to wave the flag, pretend we’re all working together. He’d give them stuff. German minefield chart once, for Sulina harbor. That was a big deal. We got our hands on it and no use to us, so let’s help the Russkies. Not that we ever got anything out of them.”
“Tommy talked to the Russians,” Leon said flatly, letting this sink in. Authorized, no need to meet in secret on a park bench or at a ferry railing, one eye looking back.
“Well, during the war. Now nobody talks to anybody. But it made him a good cover for Hirschmann. Hirschmann knew a lot of people in Washington. FDR even. The kind of guy puts the right word in somebody’s ear, and all of the sudden you get posted back stateside. I suppose I shouldn’t say, I mean he’s dead, but you know how Tommy always wanted Washington. So he probably thought Hirschmann was his ticket back. Was, too. Until the Russians got in the way the other night.”
“There’s a rumor around town they’re still looking for Jianu,” Leon said, floating it, something Frank was bound to hear anyway.
“There’s a rumor about everything,” Frank said, dismissive. “Smoke screen. They’re good at that. They have him. I want the one they don’t have. Who ratted Tommy out. He’s here. I can feel it.” Frank glanced at his watch. “I’m late for the consul. Walk with me.”
In the hall, Leon couldn’t let it go. “These meetings he had with the Russians. They keep minutes? What was said?” Some proof.
“Minutes?” Frank said, smiling. “This stuff? You had lunch maybe. A drink at the Pera. By accident. You didn’t take minutes.”
“But he’d tell you later. What was said.”
“For what it was worth. He thought it was mostly a waste of time—well, we all did.”
“Why Tommy? I mean, he volunteer for this?”
“When I asked him.” Frank looked at him. “I’m point desk for the Soviets.”
Leon stopped for a second, then caught up as they rounded the corner. “So Jianu—this was your operation?”
“I was briefed,” Frank said, careful, another distancing.
“Anyone else in Ankara? Sometimes things get overheard.”
“There was nothing to hear. All the details were up to Tommy. Time, drop-off. It’s proced
ure. Safer for him. The fewer people know.”
“No backup?”
“That would be for him to arrange.”
“But he didn’t,” Leon said, turning this over. “So he’d be the only one who knew.”
“But he wasn’t, was he?” Frank said. “And you’re not going to find him in there.” He gestured to the file in Leon’s hand. “Old war stories. He’s not in Ankara, either. He’s here.” He stopped. “Katherine.”
She was leaning against the desk, dressed for going out, high heels and a wide-brimmed hat, expecting sun, not Istanbul winter.
“There you are,” she said. “And I thought I was late.”
Frank looked at her blankly.
“For lunch?” she said, prompting. “The one you’re taking me to?”
“To tell you the truth—”
“You forgot and now you’re busy,” she said, sliding down off the desk, her skirt hiked up for a second, a flash of white slip.
Leon looked at her. A gray jacket open to a white silk blouse, bright lipstick that made the reddish hair seem darker. Green eyes, not a trick of the light.
“And then you’re back in Ankara and I’ll never get out, unless Barbara takes me.” She shuddered, for effect, then looked at Leon. “Why don’t you join us? The two of you can talk, and I’ll just sit there quiet as a mouse and nibble my cheese.”
“Can’t. Chained to my desk.” He gave a small tip of his head toward Frank, now cast as overseer. “Besides, there’s Lily’s party. I don’t want to run out of things to say.”
“You won’t. Not with Katherine,” Frank said, unexpectedly playful. “These people giving the party, they’re friends of yours? We have to be—”
“Lily runs Istanbul. The parties, anyway. Everybody’ll be there.”
“And no ambassadors,” Kay said. “For a change. I won’t have to be ‘representing my country.’”
“You’re always—” Frank started, about to be pompous, then caught himself. “Well, she’s dying to go.” He looked at her fondly. “You’d think it was your first party. All right, lunch. Just let me see the consul first.” He looked at his watch again. “Why don’t we go next door?”
“To the Pera? I can do room service myself.” She pulled a paper out of her purse. “Ginny gave me a list.” She turned to Leon. “You must know all these places. Troika?”