Siro

by David Ignatius

  “I’m hungry,” he said. “Let’s eat.”

  They broke for dinner at nine-thirty. Taylor suggested that they eat at a fish restaurant called Urcan, up the Bosporus in a town called Sariyer. He thought a change of scene would do everyone some good. So they all piled into a taxi and headed upstream. The custom at Urcan was for customers to choose their dinner from among the fish swimming in the tanks by the front door. Stone selected a flounder that was lying motionless on the bottom of the tank, trying to blend into the sand. He later pronounced it delicious, and lingered long over the dinner, the wine and the Greek brandy. It was a merry evening, with everyone doing their best to avoid serious conversation. By the time they left Urcan, all three were quite tipsy, especially Stone. He held Anna by the arm as he walked unsteadily toward his suite, and gave her a kiss on the cheek at the door.

  “Let’s resolve this Armenian business tomorrow morning, before we leave,” he said. “Breakfast in my room at eight-thirty.” He closed the door.

  Anna looked toward Taylor, who was leaning against the wall a few feet away.

  “How about a nightcap?” she said, hoping it didn’t sound too calculating.

  “You’re on.”

  “I’m in room 9. Give me ten minutes to get ready.”

  39

  When Taylor knocked on the door ten minutes later, Anna pulled it back just a crack. The smooth skin of her cheek was visible through the opening. So was the outline of her breast beneath the gauzy fabric of a loose shift, the sort of garment that Istanbuli ladies wore after the bath. “I’m not ready yet,” she whispered. “Why don’t you come in and wait while I get dressed.”

  She beckoned Taylor to come in, as if inviting him to join in a secret revel. As he entered the room, he saw that Anna’s body was naked under the translucent folds of her dressing gown. He was aroused immediately, and moved forward to embrace her.

  “Don’t touch!” said Anna. “It’s not polite to touch a lady while she’s dressing.”

  She retreated toward the bed, where she had laid out her clothes in a neat pile. “Why don’t you sit down,” she said, pointing toward the chair. “I’ll just be a minute.” She stood by the bed for a long moment. The light on the bedside table was behind her, rendering her thin shift completely transparent. Taylor could see the roundness of her breasts, the supple curve of her thighs and a few wisps of pubic hair.

  “That’s quite an outfit, Mata Hari,” said Taylor.

  “A local couturier,” said Anna. “The harem girls wore this sort of thing in the seraglio to amuse the sultan.”

  “I’m amused.”

  “As I recall, there was one sultan who liked to hide behind a window overlooking the baths. He gave his women gowns like this, but with the stitches removed. They were held together only with a little paste. When the women got near the steam bath, their clothes would fall off.”

  “What did he do then?”

  “He watched.” Anna smiled coyly and picked up her panties from the bed.

  Taylor changed position in the chair so that his trousers didn’t bind him so tightly. He was spellbound. There was something overwhelmingly erotic about seeing this well-bred woman act like a tart.

  “Which way do these go?” asked Anna, holding up her panties and turning them backwards and forwards so Taylor could see. It was quite obvious which way they went. There was nothing but a thong in back and a small triangle of white lace in front. Anna slipped them on, one leg and then the other, leaving herself open to Taylor’s view.

  “Forget the nightcap,” said Taylor, rising from the chair. “Let’s make love.”

  “Uh-uh-uh!” said Anna, wagging her finger at him. “I’m not dressed yet.”

  She extended one slim leg, arched her toe, and began putting on her panty hose, pulling one leg of the hose up a few inches at a time until it was at the top of her thigh. Then she did the other leg, just as carefully, until the panty hose were straight and taut at the waist. She gave him a little wink.

  “Stop it!” said Taylor. “You’re driving me crazy.”

  “Good,” said Anna.

  She turned toward the bed and slipped off the sheer dressing gown. Taylor could see the thin string of her panties running down the tight crevice of her ass. She picked up her bra from the bed, a lacy number not much bigger than the panties, and cupped it under her breasts.

  “Do me up, would you?” she called over her shoulder to Taylor.

  Taylor walked toward her and didn’t stop until he was pressing hard against her. His hand reached not for the fastener of the brassiere, but around her body to her breasts. Anna slapped his hand, playfully but hard enough so that it stung.

  “Naughty boy!” she said. “No touchee-feelee until we talkee-talkee.”

  Taylor dutifully fastened her bra, fumbling with the clasp just as he had as a teenager, trying to undo his first girlfriend’s bra in the back seat of a car.

  “Why do men have such trouble with bras?” she asked coquettishly when the strap was fastened. “Do they think bras are sexy?”

  “Stop it,” groaned Taylor again. “What’s gotten into you?”

  She put on a simple linen dress, letting it slip over her breasts and hips, and next her high heels. Then she walked over to her suitcase and removed a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black from a duty-free bag marked “Aéroports de Paris.”

  “Actually, there’s no reason to go out for a nightcap,” she said. “I brought a bottle.”

  She went to the bathroom and retrieved the lone glass perched in front of the cracked mirror. She poured several inches of whiskey into it and gave it to Taylor.

  “We’ll have to share,” she said.

  Taylor took a sip. He looked at Anna, now fully clothed and sitting catlike on the bed, and shook his head.

  “What’s this all about?” he said. “What do you want from me?”

  “I want you to say yes,” she said. It was somewhere between a purr and a pout.

  “To what?”

  “I want you to tell Stone tomorrow morning that you think my Armenian operation is a good idea and you’re all for it.”

  “But I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  “Why not? It makes a lot more sense than handing out Islamic literature in Uzbekistan.”

  “Maybe so. But that still doesn’t mean you should do it.”

  “Why are you so conservative all of a sudden, now that it’s my turn to try something?”

  “Come off it. That has nothing to do with it.”

  Anna sighed and put her head in her hands. “I feel like I’m playing ‘Istanbul Gentleman,’ ” she said.

  “What’s ‘Istanbul Gentleman’?”

  “It’s a game the harem women used to play. One of them would dress up like a man, paint a mustache on her lips, put a watermelon rind on her head as if it were a fez. Then the other girls would make her sit backwards on a donkey. And then somebody would give the donkey a kick, and she would go bouncing around the courtyard until she fell off.”

  “And that’s what you feel like?”

  “Yes. That’s exactly what I feel like.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “Please, Alan. Tell Stone you think it’s okay. He doesn’t really seem opposed to the idea. In fact, he would probably have said yes already if you had kept your mouth shut.”

  “Don’t trust Stone. He’s operating on six levels at once. If he decides to let you do this, it will be for his reasons, not yours.”

  “What are his reasons?”

  “I haven’t a clue. But I know Stone. He’s devious.”

  “I didn’t think that bothered you.”

  “It doesn’t.”

  “Please say yes. Let me be as crazy as Stone if I like.”

  “How do you know this Armenian isn’t working for the KGB?”

  “I just know. He’s as pure as the snow on Mount Ararat.”

  “Give me a break.”

  “If he was a phony, the seams would be visible. But ther
e aren’t any. And if it’s any reassurance, they did a CI workup on him two years ago and didn’t find any intelligence connections.”

  “CI makes mistakes. So do case officers.”

  “Come on, Alan. You know what I’m talking about. You’ve recruited dozens of people. Don’t you just know when someone is for real?”

  “Sometimes. But sometimes you get so caught up in a case that you lose your judgment. It’s called ‘falling in love with your agent.’ ”

  “That’s a cheap shot.”

  “Is it? Then explain to me why you’re so determined to do this.”

  “Because it matters to me. And it’s the right thing to do.”

  “Did you sleep with him?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Just what it sounds like. Did you sleep with him?”

  “That’s an outrageous question. But the answer is no.”

  “I only ask because you’re acting so strange. Something has happened to you. You’re different.”

  “What’s different is that I’m trying to get serious about my job. And for some reason I can’t understand, that bothers you.”

  “Let’s make love,” said Taylor gently.

  Anna paused. She was flustered. Her seductive bravado had been punctured by Taylor’s questions.

  “What about you?” she asked. “Have you slept with anyone since we were together?” She wished she hadn’t asked the question the moment the words were out of her mouth.

  “Yes,” said Taylor.

  She took a deep breath. “Do you feel guilty about it?”

  “No. Why should I? It was just recreational sex. It doesn’t change the way I feel about you. I can pretend to feel guilty if you want.”

  “Fuck you.”

  Taylor sat down beside her on the bed.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “The last thing I wanted to do tonight was argue with you.”

  He put his arm around her. She was going to remove it, but let it stay.

  “Tell Stone you like my operation,” she said.

  “Okay,” said Taylor. “If that’s what it takes to get you in bed.”

  “Tell him you think it’s the best idea anyone’s had since Allen Dulles.”

  Taylor smiled. “Okay.”

  “Promise?”

  “Yes.”

  “I need a drink.”

  Taylor handed her the glass of whiskey. She finished what was left and poured some more. As she drank it down, it occurred to her that she had never felt more like a whore.

  “Now you can take off my clothes,” she said.

  It took Taylor far less time to remove Anna’s ensemble than it had for her to put it on. He pulled the garments hurriedly from her body, pushing her dress up, pulling back the flimsy brassiere, peeling the panty hose from her legs and tugging her tiny panties so hard they bit into the soft flesh between her legs. And then he was on top of her, only half undressed himself. Usually his lovemaking was gentle, but now, for the first time, he was rough with her. He pushed into her hard, and when she cried out, he pushed in hard again. He turned her over on her hands and knees and entered her from behind, slapping her bottom with his open hand as he went in and out. He made love angrily, like a man who had something to prove. And Anna, for her part, did something that she had never done before with Taylor. She faked an orgasm.

  Taylor left a few minutes after they had finished. He mumbled something about going home to change clothes. Otherwise, neither said very much. What was there to say? Taylor drove home to his apartment in Arnavutkoy and slept a few hours.

  The next morning, before returning to Bebek to meet with Stone, Taylor stopped by the consulate to check the overnight cables. One cable in the stack caught his eye. It was addressed to Amy L. Gunderson, from the chief of the European Division. The cable ordered her to return to London immediately or contact her case officer at the embassy there. Taylor wondered for a moment what he ought to do. But there wasn’t any real question in his mind. He drove to the hotel in Bebek as quickly as he could and knocked on Stone’s door at eight-fifteen.

  The old man looked somewhat more composed than he had the night before. “You’re early,” he said.

  “You had better read this,” said Taylor. He handed the cable to Stone, who read it carefully, paying special attention to the time, date and routing by which the message had been sent.

  “I’ll handle this,” he said evenly. “This isn’t a time to be worrying Miss Barnes. She has a lot on her mind.”

  He took the paper in the palm of his hand and crumpled it into a ball.

  “I’ll need that back,” said Taylor. “For the files.”

  Stone handed the wad of paper back to Taylor. “It was never received.”

  Taylor nodded.

  Anna knocked on the door a few minutes later. She didn’t look at Taylor. “Good morning, gentlemen,” she said.

  “Good morning, my dear,” replied Stone. He was at his most courtly. “Sleep well?”

  “Just fine.”

  “We haven’t much time, I’m afraid. Your plane leaves at ten-thirty, mine at noon. So let’s finish our business. Are you still keen on this Armenian operation?”

  “Yes,” said Anna. “Very keen.”

  “What about you, Alan? Do you have any reservations? You sounded a bit skeptical last night.”

  The room was silent for a moment. Taylor looked at Anna, but she was avoiding his glance, gazing instead out the window, toward the Bosporus.

  “I don’t have any problem,” said Taylor. “If Anna wants to do it, it’s fine with me.”

  “That leaves me,” said Stone. Anna turned back from the window and looked the old man in the eye. “I’ve given it some further thought overnight and I think your project makes a good deal of sense. It’s quite enterprising on your part. Certainly it will put your man in some jeopardy, but as you say, he’s asked for our help. All we’re doing is satisfying his request. So I wish you good luck.”

  “Thank you,” said Anna. Her face was flushed. She had won, but she felt no sense of release.

  “When will you see the Armenian again?”

  “When I get back to Paris.”

  “Well then, you can tell him that your friends at the foundation have agreed to support this worthy venture in international communications—and that we will supply him with one prototype, one only.”

  “He’ll be pleased.”

  “No doubt. Now, Alan, I want you to take the wiring diagram to your friend Mr. Trumbo in Athens. He’ll need help in getting the components in a hurry, so have him contact an old colleague of mine in Technical Services back home. I’ll make the necessary arrangements.” Stone wrote a name and telephone number on a piece of paper and handed it to Taylor.

  “As for delivery,” continued Stone, “I’m afraid we can’t leave this to the uncertain devices of your Armenian friend. We’ll need to do it ourselves. My Transcaucasian geography isn’t the best, but I suspect the only sensible way to get it in is across the Iranian border, through Nakhichevan. So I suggest we engage the services of Mr. Ascari and his smuggling network one last time. They shouldn’t have any trouble with it. We’ll tell them it’s a new kind of VCR.”

  “Okay, I guess,” said Anna. She hated the thought of any aspect of her venture falling into the hands of Ali Ascari, but she was in no position to argue.

  “The pickup will be the most delicate part. Before your Armenian friend goes home, you’ll need to set a precise time and place for him to collect the shipment. I assume Ascari and his chums can suggest a delivery spot, but we have less than ten days to get all this set. So I would like Alan, when he’s in Athens, to meet Hoffman and Ascari and work out the details. Alan can send the information to me, and I will relay it, in turn, to you so you can tell the Armenian before he gets on his plane. Is that agreeable?”

  Everyone nodded.

  “I have one final request for you, Anna,” said Stone. “I want you to be very careful in Paris. The KGB may
have your Armenian friend under surveillance. So I want you to change hotels when you get back. Call me directly, at home, with the telephone and telex numbers of your new hotel.”

  “All right.”

  “Several other precautions,” said Stone evenly. There was not a hint of deceit in his voice. “You should stay away from anyone in the Paris station, or anyone who might have any dealings with it. You should under no circumstances try to contact your old case officer in the London embassy. That would be insecure. I’d also like you to stop using your old credit cards and stop writing checks on the Rockville bank account. They leave too obvious a paper trail.”

  “What will I use for money?”

  “This,” said Stone. He walked over to his luggage and returned with a red vinyl travel bag that said “TWA.”

  “What’s in it?” she asked.

  “Fifty thousand dollars,” said Stone. He looked at his watch. It was after nine.

  “You’d better get going, or you’ll miss your plane,” he said. Anna hoisted the flight bag over her shoulder and shook Stone’s hand.

  Taylor, who had watched this exchange with a growing sense of unease, turned to Anna. “I’ll walk you down,” he said.

  “That’s okay,” she answered. “I can manage by myself.” She shook Taylor’s hand, coldly, and walked out the door.

  Taylor turned to Stone. “I ought to give her a hand with the bags,” he said.

  “She can manage. You heard her. Stay a few minutes. I’d like to talk with you.”

  “All right,” said Taylor.

  “When you see Frank in Athens, tell him to send something extra with that last shipment to Armenia.”

  “What should he add?”

  “Explosives.”

  “Christ! What the hell for? This Armenian doctor won’t know what to do with them.”

  “They won’t be for the Armenian doctor. They’ll be for someone else. The British have some Armenian friends, if memory serves. They can help.”

  “Do what?”

  “I’m not sure yet. But it seems to me that if we’re going to do this Armenian business, we ought to do it right.”

  Taylor nodded dumbly, but he was troubled. “Can I ask you something?” he said.