by Alex Gerlis
As they left the Adelina he spotted Domenico for the first time since their encounter in the cabin. The Italian was leaning over the side of the bridge. When he saw them he turned away.
They returned to the compound in separate cars. Prince didn’t see Alvertos again until later that evening, but as he lay on his bed the house shook with squeals of laughter and the sound of happiness and he allowed himself to imagine how he would feel when he was reunited with Henry. The sense he’d had in the dream before he agreed to go to Greece that the fates of Moris and Henry were linked was as strong as ever. Whereas before he’d been in despair about whether he’d find his son again, now he was convinced he’d do so.
He was summoned to Alvertos’ study before dinner. ‘It will be a celebration,’ said Alvertos, who didn’t stop hugging him, pausing only to kiss him on both cheeks and possibly on the lips had Prince not moved his head to deny him the opportunity.
‘We are brothers, bound together forever. My life was on hold, now I have Moris back I can live again. To get Moris back, it’s a miracle, maybe there can be a miracle too with the rest of my family.’
Alvertos took Prince over to the leather sofa and the two men sat together, smoking cigars and drinking what he described as the best champagne in Istanbul. Prince wasn’t sure how to raise it, but he wanted to ask Alvertos about the chromium. What if he’d forgotten or, worse still, simply wasn’t going to keep his part of the bargain? What on earth would he do then?
He coughed, finally deciding to broach the subject. Before he could say anything Alvertos slapped him quite hard on the thigh.
‘Now then, my friend. Tonight we have a special dinner and tomorrow morning, I will show you the chromium!’
* * *
He was woken at five in the morning by David shaking his shoulder.
‘Get dressed. Alvertos says if you get a move on there’s time for coffee before we leave.’
Istanbul: always time for coffee.
The light wasn’t strong enough yet to penetrate the shutters and the house was silent, and for the time being so was Istanbul. Alvertos had told him the previous night he’d show him the chromium in the morning but Prince remained doubtful. The night before he’d resolved to give Istanbul another couple of days and then leave the city, although with the Germans now aware of his identity he wasn’t sure how he was going to manage that.
He dressed quickly and spent a few minutes checking both the cameras – the Kodak and the Minox – were ready.
There were three of them at the kitchen table: David, Alvertos and Salman, the driver. Alvertos had a broad smile on his face and told him how he’d hardly slept that night – he couldn’t take his eyes off Moris.
‘I’ve woken him and told him I’m going out to buy his favourite pastries and that I’ll be back later. His aunt will look after him. Let’s have another coffee then we leave. Salman will drive us to Eminönü. We’ll leave the car there and take the ferry over to Haydarpasa where another car will be waiting for us. The drive will take us an hour.’
It was a mostly silent journey on the Asian side, Alvertos sitting diagonally opposite him in the front seat looking like a man now at peace with himself, about to fulfil his obligation to the man who’d rescued his son. For around forty minutes they drove along the coast road alongside the Sea of Marmara, away from the city. They pulled into a petrol station and waited a while and then turned back the way they came for no more than a mile, turning sharply to the right and continuing – as far as Prince could tell – away from the city but now away from the coast too.
Ten minutes later they turned into a narrow rutted lane, and almost immediately into a farmyard where a van was waiting for them. Salman remained behind, but the van had a driver and another man in the front. Alvertos, David and Prince climbed into the back.
The journey was punctuated by what sounded like tense conversations in Turkish and he briefly wondered whether this could be a trap, but soon the van stopped and David jumped out. Alvertos told him to wait. Maybe ten minutes later there was a knock at the back door and they left the van. It was parked at the rear of a large warehouse-like building and they followed David into it and up the stairs until they came to the top floor. They walked over to an enormous window which overlooked a large and busy harbour, almost circular in shape, with a narrow entrance into the open water of what he took to be the Sea of Marmara to their right. Around the harbour dozens of jetties fanned out like intricate patterns on a flower, the sea more grey than blue lapping between them. Very few of the berths were empty; those that weren’t contained a mixture of vessels: large freighters, tankers, smaller cargo ships, some trawlers and a few ocean-going barges.
‘We’re in Tuzla,’ said Alvertos. ‘It’s a port to the east of the city, on the Asian side obviously. And that,’ he was pointing in the general direction of the harbour, ‘is where your chromium is loaded and shipped to the Black Sea ports. From there it’s taken into German territory.’
‘But which of these ships are carrying it?’
Before Alvertos could reply the echo of footsteps became audible in the large room. Prince turned round. He noticed David had already walked towards the middle of the room and a small man was approaching him. They spoke for a while and David searched the man before leading him over.
‘This is Suleiman,’ said David, his hand on the other man’s shoulder. ‘Suleiman works here and he also works for us. What do you need to know?’
Suleiman was short and wiry, clearly a man of some strength, and edgy, constantly looking around him. He was wearing filthy dungarees and a cloth cap.
‘Can we ask him which of these ships carry the chromium?’
David translated. ‘He says to look at the wharf down there, the one with the two-storey red-brick building set back from the dockside, just below us here – can you see it? You’ll notice the wharf is fenced off and there are guards on the pier. Can you see the large chute coming over the building towards the jetty? There are two berths, either side of the jetty. One has a freighter berthed there. That area is a secure one and is reserved for the chromium. It comes in by lorry from eastern Turkey and is unloaded in a secure warehouse behind that red building – you can just see the corrugated iron roof. The chromium is then loaded into the freighter through the chute. The ships always sail at night.’
‘Can Suleiman get me into that wharf?’
‘No, but he can get you next to it, near enough for you to see what’s going on – the name of the ships, for instance. You have a camera, don’t you? Well, I’d imagine you could take photographs, as long as you’re very careful.’
‘Can I spend a while up here watching what’s going on? I need to have a think.’
Alvertos, David and Suleiman spoke for a while.
‘I think an hour and then we go,’ said Alvertos, glancing at his watch. ‘If you want to come back to see more and get closer, Suleiman suggests you do so on Wednesday, the day after tomorrow. He says he can probably get you into the warehouse in the wharf next to that one – there’s a window in it which overlooks the chromium wharf. He says there will be two freighters in that day and one of them will be sailing that night. David can bring you here and Suleiman will bring you clothes to make you look like a dock worker.’
Prince wandered over to another window, crouching down he got a better view. There was no doubt that from the warehouse he’d get a good view and some decent photographs. But something wasn’t right; something was bothering him and he was struggling to put his finger on it. It was Alvertos who cut to the point. He’d joined Prince and was kneeling down beside him.
‘It seems to me, my brother, that whoever wants the information will want more than the name of the ships and some photographs, won’t they? That’s all you’ll be giving them, that and dates and times… They’ll want proof of where the chromium ends up, won’t they? After all,’ he spread his hands out towards the sea, ‘these boats could just be cruising up and down the Bosphorus for all they know, eh?�
��
Prince nodded; this was what had been bothering him, like a traveller who’d reached a difficult destination but had no idea what to do once there. All he had found was where the chromium was being shipped from, nothing more than that.
Alvertos had walked back towards David and Suleiman. There was an animated conversation between the three of them. Alvertos looked pleased.
‘Suleiman tells me the freighter sailing on Wednesday night is a Romanian vessel. There’s not a Romanian ship on any of the world’s seven seas or in any of its ports whose captain cannot be easily persuaded to cooperate with me. No Romanian has ever failed me. We’ll sort the captain out. David will bring you back here on Wednesday.’
‘I thought he couldn’t get me onto that wharf?’
‘No, but apparently his cousin can.’
‘He didn’t say.’
‘You didn’t ask.’
‘And then what?’
‘And then, my brother,’ Alvertos put an arm round Prince’s shoulder, ‘you’ll sail to Romania. Suleiman says the cargo on that ship is bound for Pilsen.’
‘Pilsen?’
‘It’s in Czechoslovakia, or whatever the Nazis call the place now. That’s where this chromium is going. And that’s where you’ll be going too!’
Chapter 22
Istanbul, Romania and the Danube
October 1943
Michael Eugene Doyle had spent the Tuesday writing one more article for Travelling and Travellers, which David would take to the Grand Post Office in the morning. He knew full well that London would be appalled at the message it contained.
Relying far too much on his Baedeker he’d written what he recognised was a hurried and second-rate article about the rivers of Turkey and how they all flowed to Istanbul, which of course they didn’t, but at least it enabled him to get in an early use of ‘fish’ which was the code word for chromium and allowed a reference to the Danube: chromium located accompanying on journey on Danube to factory ends.
He hoped they’d be able to work out what his destination was. He toyed with adding a specific reference to Pilsen but in the end worried it was alerting people to where he was going if the message fell into the wrong hands. The journey was going to be perilous enough without helping to arrange a reception committee at the end of it.
He’d seen little of Alvertos after they’d returned to the house on the Monday, but the Greek had been busy making sure he kept his promise. Before a largely silent lunch on the Wednesday he’d been taken into the study where Alvertos and David were waiting. The latter assured him the article had been safely sent to Zurich.
Alvertos looked on as David passed him various envelopes. ‘This one contains your identity papers as a Turkish sailor, it shows you’re a member of the sailors’ union. Then this envelope here, these are your Romanian papers. There’s an identity card here and some currency too. From what I can gather, you shouldn’t need these papers but Alvertos said it was best you had them. In here,’ he held up another envelope, ‘are Reichsmarks. You’re certainly going to need these, be careful, there’s a small fortune here. And you’ll have your Irish papers, won’t you?’
Prince nodded.
‘Obviously keep them well hidden. I guess they’ll be more of a hindrance than a help, at least at first.’
Prince picked up the envelopes and peered into all three of them. ‘I’m very grateful of course but the Turkish and Romanian identities – they won’t be of much use, will they, if I don’t speak either language?’
Alvertos looked mildly exasperated. ‘That is true, but with some luck you won’t need them. The plan is that you’ll accompany the chromium shipment all the way from the port in Tuzla to its destination in Pilsen. And you’ll be part of the cargo, if you get my meaning. You’ll be concealed, that is what the Romanian captain is promising. He knows very little about you – it’s safer that way. The most important thing he needs to know is that he’s being paid an enormous sum of money to get you safely across the Black Sea. I’m sure you know what to do, but volunteer as little information about yourself as possible. Rely on your instinct as to whether to trust people – and just pray you’re lucky. You will need your papers when you arrive in Pilsen – it will be up to you then. You’ll have to sort that out yourself. We can only arrange so much – this is your mission, my brother. I’m keeping my promise.’
At the end of the lunch Alvertos had hugged Prince tightly, still clasping his shoulders when the hug ended, tears in his eyes as he repeatedly kissed the Englishman on both cheeks. ‘Whatever happens to you, never forget that you saved my son’s life. I will certainly never forget that. When this war is over, and if you can, come and find me. Go on, go with David now.’
David took him up to the bedroom he’d been using. Spread out on the bed was the clothing Prince was to change into, the kind a Black Sea sailor would wear. His backpack was there too with a change of clothing and an extra jumper to go into it along with some toiletries. His Kodak lay on the bed.
‘I would say it may be too risky to take that. It’s up to you, my friend, but it’s bulky and if someone sees it…’
‘You may be right, David. If you give me a minute, I’ll get changed.’
‘Before you do, Alvertos wants you to have this.’
David handed him a small bundle of grey towelling which Prince unwrapped. It was a small pistol, no more than six inches long and compact enough to easily fit into his hand.
‘It’s a Beretta M418,’ said David. ‘It’s a semi-automatic, very popular with Italian army officers. Alvertos swears by Berettas, he says they’re the best guns in Europe and this one is hard to get hold of. It’s his parting gift to you. I think he was too upset to hand it over in person. And this special holster here… take it… means you can clip the gun inside the back of your trousers, to the waistband. It will sit in the small of your back – here, let me show you. It’s easy to operate. This is the safety catch, here… and you release the magazine like this… you can see it takes seven bullets. In that box are another two dozen bullets.’
Prince quickly got changed. He’d avoided shaving for the past two mornings and when he looked in the mirror he was pleasantly surprised. He almost looked the part. David knocked on the door and asked him how long he’d be. He quickly unclipped the handle of the suitcase and put the Minox camera into a pocket inside his jacket. The spare films went into the concealed compartment in the backpack, which also contained his Michael Doyle papers.
It was around four in the afternoon when they arrived at the port in Tuzla. They’d pulled up outside a cafe deep inside the port and David went in and returned with Suleiman and a man he introduced as his cousin.
They drove for just one block, pulling into a yard behind a deserted building. There was a conversation between David, Suleiman and his cousin, at the end of which David handed over a thick envelope. The cousin opened it and took a while to count the thick bundle of notes, licking his lips and nodding appreciatively as he did so.
‘Very well, this is what happens. You leave now with Suleiman and his cousin. Walk in between them into the wharf. Everything has been sorted with the security. This envelope here,’ he handed Prince another thick envelope, ‘is for the master of the Steliana, that’s the ship with the chromium, the one taking you to Constanța. His name is Cristian Moraru. The arrangement is that when you go on board, you see him first. When you are alone with him, you say you are a traveller from Cyprus. He will then know who you are. If he replies that he prefers to sail into Famagusta than Limassol then you know all is well and you can give him this envelope.’
‘And if he doesn’t give the correct reply?’
David shrugged. ‘I guess that’s why you have the Beretta.’
* * *
In 1937, Richard Prince had been required to attend an execution at Lincoln prison. For some reason the prison governor was worried this particular hanging might cause a riot in the jail and asked for a detachment of police officers to be present just
in case. The superintendent who was supposed to be in charge cried off with flu the night before – Prince reckoned it was nerves – and the chief constable instructed Prince to take charge.
In the event there was little to do: the two dozen officers under his command waited in the prison officers’ mess while the execution was taking place. The governor, a cadaver of a man with a complexion to match, suggested Prince join him on the landing outside the execution chamber.
The whole experience was a profoundly shocking one, but what surprised Prince the most was the speed at which everything happened. And not just the speed, it was the momentum which meant the prisoner – a wreck of a man no more than five feet tall with a desperate smile about him – was propelled along.
From the landing Prince watched as the cell door opened and the prisoner was hauled to his feet, his hands strapped behind his back before being marched out, past Prince who swore he could smell the fear on the wretched man’s breath and into the execution chamber where he was held into position as his feet were bound and a hood placed over his head, all the while the chaplain muttering some prayer, his voice trembling as he did so.
Prince had hoped not to see the moment of death, but as he stepped back someone in front of him moved away. He heard what sounded like a muffled sob from the gallows and there was a blur and then a taut rope. No more than twenty seconds.
And that was how his journey to the wharf and onto the Steliana felt. Suleiman and his cousin moving him along as if he were their prisoner, each step forward making it increasingly difficult to turn back until soon they were at the locked gate to the wharf, where a sentry allowed an envelope to be slipped into his pocket before he unlocked the gate just wide enough for the three men to pass through before slamming the gate shut.