Reap the Wind

by Iris Johansen

  “Incredible.”

  “Convenient,” Alex corrected her. “After an exhibition like this, it’s very difficult to wait.” He paused. “Isn’t it, Caitlin?”

  The exhibition was ending onstage, thank heaven. She kept her face expressionless as she turned to look at him. “Why did you want me to see this? Is it supposed to be a turn-on?”

  “Yes.”

  “And I’m supposed to fall into your bed as soon as we get back to the cottage?”

  “I’m not a fool.”

  “Or perhaps you thought I’d try out the Harem?”

  He smiled faintly. “If things were different, I’m quite sure you’d choose the Harem.”

  She glanced hurriedly away from him. “I’m not impressed.”

  “Yes, you are. I can see the pulse pounding in your temple. You’re hot and aroused and angry as hell at me for knowing it.”

  “It has nothing to do with you.”

  Some indefinable emotion flickered in his face before he smiled self-mockingly. “It has everything to do with me. You’re intelligent enough to know how self-serving I am. We can’t continue living in the same house with you constantly on guard against me, and sex appears to be the only way I can reach you. I thought it wouldn’t hurt to lay the groundwork.”

  She should look away from him. She knew how compelling Alex could be when he exerted himself. She finally managed to tear her glance away and shifted it back to the stage to find the performance had ended. “I think we’d better—there’s Kemal.” She experienced a rush of relief as she saw Kemal climbing the steps two at a time as he came toward them. She wanted to get out of there. The sensual atmosphere had knocked her off balance and she needed to regain her emotional equilibrium.

  “Irmak?” Alex asked Kemal as he stopped beside their table.

  Kemal shook his head. “Not here tonight. But he’s still in the city. Melis says he was at the Harem this morning.”

  “Melis . . .” Alex frowned as if trying to identify the name.

  “You remember Melis. ‘Eleven years old with golden hair.’ ” He gestured to the men who were now streaming through the door leading to the Harem. “She’s going to have a busy night.”

  “Eleven?” Caitlin felt sick. “They have children here? Can’t we do something?”

  “Perhaps,” Kemal said. “But not tonight. Nothing’s going to happen to her or the others that hasn’t happened before.”

  “It’s horrible that they can use children like that.”

  “It’s worse than horrible, it’s a death sentence.”

  “What?”

  “The prostitutes are given physical checkups every other day to protect the clients and make them feel safe enough to come back.” Kemal paused before adding softly, “But Adnan wouldn’t think of inconveniencing his clients by giving them the same tests or asking them to use protection. In this day of AIDS, how long do you think Adnan’s whores survive?”

  Alex stood up, took off his robe, and threw some currency on the table. “Why don’t we just go pay another visit to Irmak’s yali?”

  Kemal shook his head. “Melis says he’s not there. Besides, you want the Gypsy before you kill Adnan. He may just be hiding until he can locate the Gypsy for you.” He noticed Caitlin’s startled face and gave her a dazzling smile. “But we’re frightening the pretty lady. Enough of this sad talk.” He reached out a hand and pulled her to her feet. “Come, I will go home with you.”

  “You will?”

  Kemal took off his robe and tossed it on the cushions to reveal jeans and a white fleecy sweatshirt. “We will have coffee and I’ll tell you of the many places you must see in my city.” He snapped his fingers. “No, tomorrow I will take you myself.”

  “I’m not here to sight-see, Kemal.”

  “But what else can you do until I find Adnan? And because I find you so beautiful, I will charge you nothing.” Kemal glanced at Alex and magnanimously added, “You may come if you like.”

  Alex said dryly, “How kind of you to include me.”

  “Yes, it is.” Kemal beamed at him. “Particularly since it’s clear you have no intention of letting me show the pretty lady what a magnificent lover I am.”

  “That’s perceptive of you.”

  “Don’t worry.” Kemal airily waved a hand. “I need your money. I promise I will never show her what she’s missing.”

  Alex’s lips twitched. “Thank you, but I don’t think a tour is wise.” He turned to Caitlin. “However, you have no idea what a compliment he’s giving you to make the offer gratis. No one likes money as much as Kemal.”

  “So very true.” Kemal took Caitlin’s arm and nudged her toward the door. “Now we go back to your house. I live near here on the Street of the Turban Makers, but there are cockroaches. Ladies hate cockroaches.”

  “Yes, we do.”

  “Me, too, but the rent is cheap. We will stop by my place and get my guitar and I will play for you.”

  “I don’t feel much like a party.”

  Kemal nodded understandingly. “You are still sad about the children. But you can do nothing to help them now, so you must not think of them. Enjoy the moment.”

  “Can you do that?”

  Kemal gazed at her gravely. “Yes. I’m sorry you think me unfeeling, but I learned a long time ago how to put aside sadness until it was time to act.” He smiled. “You are in for a great treat. I sing too.” He struck a pose, knees bent, strumming an imaginary guitar. “I will sing ‘Born in the U.S.A.’ for you.”

  “Are you any good?”

  “Oh, yes,” Kemal said seriously. “I’m a superb musician. Almost as good as Bruce Springsteen. I’m better at sex, but the guitar takes more practice to reach perfection.”

  Caitlin chuckled. “Yet you have to manipulate certain chords in either.” The words had tumbled out before she thought. She glanced sidewise at Alex to find him smiling faintly, knowingly. She looked hurriedly back at Kemal. “Alex tells me you work with the CIA.”

  “Part-time. I’m a student at the university.” His black eyes twinkled. “I major in philosophy.”

  Caitlin shook her head. “I should have guessed.”

  The air was brisk with a hint of autumn chill as they left the Golden Cage and started up the twisting street.

  “Socrates was a sensualist too,” Kemal stated. “Most of the Greeks were. But they appreciated the beauty of men much more than that of women, which wasn’t exactly fair. I’m far more democratic.” He turned to Alex. “You go with us tomorrow?”

  “No, and neither will Caitlin. I told you it wasn’t wise.”

  Kemal’s gaze narrowed on Alex’s face. “You mean safe. There is danger for her?”

  “Ledford.”

  “It is too bad.” Then his expression brightened as he inclined his head in a slight bow to Caitlin. “But do not worry, pretty lady, I promise I will think on it and overcome this difficulty.”

  And, gazing in bemusement at his determined face, Caitlin knew Kemal would keep his promise.

  In the next several hours Kemal proved to be the superb musician he claimed to be. His skill on the guitar was exceeded by a remarkable baritone singing voice. The moment he entered their cottage he sat on the floor and entertained them with rock songs, jokes, and wickedly witty stories of his life in the city. Caitlin found him to be a curious combination of boyishly appealing and tough worldly-wise. She was irresistibly drawn to him. Alex, on the contrary, was unusually silent.

  It was close to three in the morning when Kemal put his guitar carefully in its case and rose to his feet. “I must go home and shower and dress for class. Today you will rest from your trip, but tomorrow morning at six o’clock I will call for you.”

  Caitlin blinked. “Call for me?”

  “Of course.” He moved toward the door. “I promised to show you my city.”

  Alex stiffened. “And I said it was too dangerous.”

  “But that is why we will go at dawn.” Kemal turned at the door and smile
d. “That way we will be through before anyone else is stirring.”

  Caitlin shook her head. “Nothing will be open.”

  “I have friends. I will find a way to open closed doors.” He turned back to Alex. “I will have her safely back by nine. Okay?”

  “No,” Alex said.

  “Yes,” Caitlin said at the same time.

  Alex whirled to face her. “I don’t like it, dammit.”

  “It seems safe enough. You said we weren’t followed from the airport.” She said to Kemal, “I’ll be ready at six.”

  Kemal’s brilliant smile flashed and the next moment the door had closed behind him.

  “Why?” Alex bit out.

  She avoided looking at him. “I find Kemal amusing. I’ve never seen anyone more enthusiastic or guileless in my entire life.”

  “Don’t be fooled. He’s one tough little bastard.”

  “Well then, that will make me safer, won’t it? Besides, I don’t think you would have taken me to the Kafas tonight if you thought there was any danger.”

  “You didn’t give me much choice. This is no time for casual sight-seeing.”

  She didn’t give a damn about sight-seeing. She had no intention of being cooped up in the same house with Alex for twenty-four hours at a time. Those moments at the Kafas had shown her how vulnerable she was to him. “Maybe I’m just subscribing to Kemal’s philosophy of enjoying the moment.”

  “Then I’m going with you.”

  “No!” Alex’s eyes flew to her face at the violence of her rejection, and Caitlin quickly turned on her heel and walked toward her bedroom. “I don’t want you along.”

  “Too bad. You’ll have to put up with me today. If I see that Kemal’s right and the risks seem slight, I’ll rid you of my presence after that. Satisfied?”

  “No, but I guess it will have to do. Good night.”

  She heard a muttered curse behind her and then Alex said wearily, “Wear shoes you can slip on and off easily.”

  She glanced back over her shoulder. “Why?”

  “The city is filled with mosques and you’ll have to remove your shoes before entering them.”

  “How do you know? Oh, yes, you told me you’d visited here before.”

  “Mosques weren’t on my list of sight-seeing musts at the time. I was very young and as much a sensualist as our friend Kemal.” He lifted his shoulders in a weary shrug. “I told you I had a passion for trivia. My head is crammed with the damned stuff.”

  He looked jaded and so terribly alone that for an instant she experienced a pang of sympathy. Dieu, how stupid. No one needed sympathy less than Alex Karazov. “What are we going to do after we get back to the cottage tomorrow?”

  He shrugged. “Make a few phone calls. Study the photographs of the Wind Dancer. Maybe I’ll try to make a projection about Ledford’s next move.”

  “Can you do that?”

  “Sometimes. Not often with this many variables in the picture.”

  She hesitated, oddly reluctant to leave him. She asked suddenly, “Why did you defect to the United States?”

  “Oh, no, I’m not going to give you any more weapons against me tonight.”

  “Well, tomorrow is another day.” She started to swing the door shut.

  “It won’t work, you know.”

  “What won’t work?”

  “You can’t run away.”

  “I’m not running away.”

  “The hell you’re not. You were scared to death in Paris, but now you’re willing to risk your neck just to avoid me.”

  “I’m not—the risk is minimal.”

  “Maybe. But, dammit, you shouldn’t take any risk.” He paused. “Look, we have to work and live together if we’re going to find Ledford. You can’t stay bitter and angry at me twenty-four hours a day.”

  “Don’t count on it.” Caitlin shut the door and wearily leaned back against it.

  Would it ever get easier?

  12

  Caitlin had a restless night and was up at seven the next morning. The first thing she did was call Vasaro.

  Katrine answered the phone and Caitlin felt a rush of affection as she heard her mother’s voice. “Mother? How are you?”

  “Well enough.” Katrine sounded distracted. “Really, Caitlin, it was most unfair of you to invite all these people to Vasaro and then not come home to help. They’re supposed to descend on me at noon today, and where am I going to put them? Ms. Benedict and Mr. Andreas and this Pauley person . . . And what about the film crew? Can’t you put off that tiresome business in Paris and come home until they leave?”

  “You’ll manage splendidly, Mother. You know you always do,” Caitlin said. “And think of the stories you’ll have to tell your friends about Chelsea Benedict. They’ll be green with envy that you had her at Vasaro.”

  “That’s true.” Katrine was instantly mollified as she thought of that social coup on the horizon. “Do you suppose I could persuade her to go to Nice to lunch with me one day?”

  “If she’s not too busy.”

  “And Marisa has volunteered to give up her room here at the manor to stay in the village with Renée and her husband.” Katrine was brightening more by the minute. “I have to hang up now, Caitlin. I don’t have any more time to talk to you.”

  “Wait. Is Peter Maskovel around?”

  “Oh, yes, we’ve just finished breakfast. Peter! He’s coming. Good-bye, Caitlin.”

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there to—”

  “Hello, Caitlin.” Peter Maskovel’s voice.

  “I just wondered if everything was going well with the translation.”

  “Fine. I should finish copying the notes today. Where should I send them?”

  “The American Express office in Istanbul in care of Kemal Nemid. Tell Jonathan if he has any word for us to leave a message at the Hilton for Alex.”

  “Right. Anything else?”

  “We may be here awhile. Could you send me my projectors and the hologram film you’ll find in the perfumery?”

  “I’ll put the notes in the box and send them off together.”

  “Thank you.”

  Peter was silent, and she knew he was wondering why she didn’t bring the call to a close. Dammit, she didn’t want to break even this fragile link to home. “Have you been enjoying yourself at Vasaro?”

  “Who wouldn’t? It’s heaven on earth. In the short time I’ve been here I’ve used up bushels of film.” He went on quickly. “But I’ve been working in the evenings on the translation. Marisa has been helping me type it.”

  “She’s rather special, isn’t she?”

  Peter didn’t answer for a moment. “Very special.”

  She had no more excuse to continue the conversation. “Since I can’t be there, I’d appreciate it if you’d help my mother cope. She doesn’t like to have to worry about things.”

  “Marisa and I will watch out for her.”

  Another silence.

  “One more thing.” She tried to keep her tone light. “I know I told you not to send me more photographs, but I really wouldn’t mind if you sent me a few prints of your shots of Vasaro.”

  “I’ll send you a copy of every single one,” Peter said gently.

  “That’s kind of you. Good-bye, Peter.”

  She hung up and drew a deep, shaky breath. She felt so cut off, so alone.

  “Is anything wrong?” Alex stood in the doorway of his bedroom. She wondered how long he had been listening.

  “No. Mother is a little harried because of the film crew coming, but she’ll get along fine.” She stood up, tightened the belt of her robe, and moved toward her bedroom. “I should get the translation in a few days. That’s why I called Vasaro. I can’t just spend my time twiddling my thumbs. I have to have purpose.”

  “Caitlin.”

  She didn’t look at him. “I have to get dressed.”

  “Don’t close me out. I want to help you.”

  She turned her head and stared directly into
his eyes. “Tell me, can you help me not feel an exile from Vasaro?”

  He shook his head wearily. “No, I can’t do that.”

  “I didn’t think so.” She went into the bedroom and closed the door.

  Peter turned away from the phone to see Marisa standing beside him. “She’s homesick.”

  Marisa nodded gravely. “It’s must be terrible having a home you love and know it’s forbidden to you. My mother and I have moved around so much that we’ve never stayed long enough to become attached to any one place.” She fell into step with him as he started for the front door. “I can help you for only a few hours this morning. I have to come back to pack and move to the village.”

  “Can you find a place for me with one of the workers? Katrine seems concerned about space.”

  “I’ll ask Jacques. Louis lives alone and might like the company.” Marisa smiled at him. “It will be nice being together away from the crowd, won’t it? Neither of us is the celebrity type.”

  “Very nice.”

  She slipped her arm in his as they strolled down the steps. “I feel so comfortable with you, Peter.”

  He could feel his heart skip a beat and then accelerate as she touched him, but he carefully kept his face expressionless. Sixteen and forty, he reminded himself. A girl in the sunrise of a bright, active life and an aging crock whose condition might worsen and deteriorate at any time. She liked him. She confided in him. They had become friends who could talk and work together intimately. He should be grateful that he had been given these moments.

  He covered her hand with his own and patted it affectionately as they walked toward the perfumery. “I feel comfortable with you too, Marisa.”

  “We will go for a ferry ride on the Golden Horn,” Kemal said. “Did I tell you that they used to call the Golden Horn the sultan’s pond? It used to be polluted, but now it is clear and beautif—”

  “How far is it to this ferry?”