Knowles’s grip was as steady and strong as his gaze. “Mark my words. The confrontation in Berlin was not some isolated incident, but the herald of things to come.”
Chapter Five
The next day, Jake entered the consulate grounds to find a courtyard flooded with people. Ahmet greeted him at the door and announced with his great, beaming smile, “Is people wishing to apply for position of assistant, Meester Jake.”
Jake turned and looked back over the assembled throng. “All of them?”
“Ahmet do just what you say, Meester Jake, look high and low for good assistant.”
He looked doubtfully at the little man. “All of them have been vetted? They are all qualified?”
“Oh, most certainly yes, Meester Jake.” He took in the courtyard with a proud sweep of his arm. “These the best you find.” He dropped his arm, stepped closer, said more quietly, “Unless, of course, you are accepting Selim as assistant.”
“Out of the question,” Jake said, turning for the door. “I’ll see them in my office. Have them come up one at a time.”
The line of applicants seemed endless. All had dark complexions and finely sculpted features, male and female alike. All spoke English in varying shades and disguises. Some used a grammar so convoluted Jake was positive they had learned it from an outdated book, without aid of a teacher. These applicants he treated with great respect, for there are few endeavors more difficult, or more indicative of determination and intelligence, than learning a new language alone. Yet none of them had any experience with accounting, and few could even type.
Some applicants had an accent so heavy they might as well have been speaking another tongue. Jake smiled his way through these interviews, asking a few polite questions, explaining carefully that he was under pressure to get up and running and so needed someone with an absolute and total grasp of English. He was not sure they understood him any better than he did them.
Throughout the entire day, Ahmet remained in Jake’s outer office. The obsequious man smoked so many of his foul cigarettes that every time Jake opened his door he was struck by a billowing cloud.
Halfway through the afternoon, the phone in Jake’s office rang for the first time, startling him almost out of his seat. Tentatively he lifted the antiquated receiver, heard a series of pops and hisses and static squeals, said repeated hellos with increasing volume.
Suddenly through the static came a familiar voice. “Jake, is that you?”
“Harry?” He made frantic hand motions for Ahmet to usher out the next incoming applicant and to close the door. “Where are you?”
“London. Good grief, this line is awful. Can you hear me?”
“Barely.”
“Well, it will have to do. I’ve been trying to get through since yesterday. And that, mind you, with every ounce of political pressure I could bring to bear.”
Jake raised his voice, shouted, “When do you arrive?”
“That’s the problem. I still don’t know. I would swear that there are unseen forces at work here.”
Jake looked over at his now-closed door, said, “I can imagine.”
“Eh, what was that? You’ll have to speak up, man.”
“There have been developments here too,” Jake said.
“No doubt. Kolonov has introduced himself?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“You got my message then. Good. I assume I do not need to discuss with you the matter of security.”
“Or trust.”
“Exactly. You may assume that every wall has ears, and there are a dozen listeners to every spoken word.”
Including the present conversation, Jake understood. “I sure could use a friend close at hand.”
“I shall arrive at the soonest possible opportunity, I assure you. In the meantime, there is always the chance of our turning this situation to our advantage and learning what we can.”
“I’m afraid I’m in over my head,” Jake confessed, this time not caring who heard.
“Nonsense.” Harry Grisholm’s confidence managed to pass over the crackling line. “There is no one else I would rather have watching out for our interests, Jake.”
“Shows how misguided even the experts can be,” Jake said, but found himself smiling in spite of himself.
“Look for allies in unexpected places, that’s my advice. You always were one for landing on your feet. I count on you to do nothing less there in Istanbul.”
“A few allies,” Jake said, “would be a welcome addition.”
“Go beyond the normal routine, then. Examine avenues which are overlooked by the ones wearing blinders.”
“Hard to find those avenues,” Jake replied, “when I can’t even read the street signs.”
“A joke. Good. I like that.” The exuberance refused to be contained by the static-filled line. “Now as to the funds.”
“The third allocation arrived yesterday,” Jake said, glancing over to the closed folder. So many zeros. “It boggles the mind, Harry.”
“Our job is to make sure it is money well spent. If you are not satisfied about anything, then wait. Delay payment. Demand better details. Ask questions. Inspect in person. We must be sure that these initial actions follow correct procedures.”
“Easier said than done.”
“You are experiencing pressure?”
“From all sides.”
“And I am not there to protect your back.” A somber briskness pressed on. “Well, it simply cannot be helped. You must be strong, my friend. And stubborn.” The line faded away entirely, then came back with a shouted, “Jake? Are you there?”
“Still here,” he yelled.
“I am losing you. Take care, my friend. I shall join you as soon as I can. And remember—” But the line chose that moment to go dead.
Slowly Jake replaced the receiver, feeling more isolated and distant from protected waters than at any time since the war.
By six o’clock his head felt as if it were full of used chewing gum, and he was no closer to finding an assistant. Wearily he smiled and shook another hand and ushered another applicant out. He leaned on the doorpost and said, “I’m positive I asked for someone with accounting experience.”
“Was no good, Meester Jake?”
Jake looked down at Ahmet’s beaming face and the oily strands of hair plastered down tight over the gleaming skull. “Mr. Burnes, Jake, Colonel, Colonel Burnes. All of them are fine. This Meester Jake business has got to go.”
Ahmet nodded, all smiles. “Was not the ideal candidate?”
“Ideal is somewhere on the other side of the moon. I’m not searching for ideal. I just want someone who can add, subtract, and tell me the result in an English I can understand.” Jake examined Ahmet and said for the dozenth time that day, “I thought you said you had vetted these candidates.”
“Oh yes, most careful vetting,” Ahmet agreed. “This last lady, she was very pretty, no?”
“Grand. Just grand. Only I don’t see how a background as a music teacher and two courses in French prepare her to be my assistant.”
Ahmet made grave eyes. “She was not mathematics teacher? She did not live in England?”
Jake had to laugh. “When I showed her the rows of numbers, she looked like they were going to reach out and bite her. And I’m still not sure how it was we communicated at all, since I don’t speak any Turkish, and I am pretty sure she’s never been anywhere within shouting distance of an English dictionary, much less England.”
“Oh, oh, oh.” Ahmet gave his head a mournful shake. “Is so hard to find worthy employees in such times.” He paused for a moment of sober reflection, then brightened. “Perhaps you should speak yet again with young Selim?”
“I believe I’m finally beginning to get the picture,” Jake replied. “The mist is finally clearing before my eyes. Selim wouldn’t happen to be a relative of yours, would he?”
“Oh no, Meester Jake. Not mine. Sister’s husband’s nephew.” The patented beam retu
rned. “Is very nice boy.”
“Your very nice boy can’t add, thinks subtraction is something to do with his fingers and toes, and wrestles with English almost as well as I do with alligators.” Jake pushed himself erect. “Bring on the next candidate.”
Ahmet opened pudgy palms toward the ceiling. “Is no more.”
“That’s all?” Jake had to smile at the man’s audacity. “You’ve scoured the streets and filled my day with twenty-three people who don’t know accounting from acrobatics, and you say that’s the best you can do?”
“Is terrible, no?” The beam widened. “Perhaps you see Selim tomorrow after all.”
“Highly unlikely.” Jake found himself not minding in the least when a glint of exasperation showed on the little man’s face. He reached for his coat, shut and locked his door, turned back to see Ahmet struggling to recapture his grin. “We’ll start again tomorrow.”
“But Meester Jake—”
“Accountants,” Jake said, stopping him with a hand that pushed at the air between them so hard the little man squeaked back a step. “Accountants with English. Remember that. And don’t waste any more of my time.”
His anger and his fatigue powered him down the stairs and through the lobby so swiftly that he was already beside the Marine’s desk before the oddity struck home. He turned for another glance, saw that there was indeed a thin, bearded man hunched in the corner of the corridor’s only bench. It was very strange, for security measures forbade anyone inside the front door without an escort.
Jake leaned over the Marine’s barrier and faced the young man who had brought them in from the train station the day before. For the life of him, his fatigue-addled brain could not come up with the soldier’s name. “Who’s he waiting to see, Corporal?”
“Why, you, sir.”
Jake glanced from the tired, disheveled-looking man on the bench to the Marine and back again. “Say that again?”
“He was the first applicant to be passed through this morning.” The young man was typical of the consular guard staff, spit-shined and erect and so fresh he made Jake feel ancient. “Mrs. Ecevit vetted him personally.”
Jake searched his memory, came up with another vague recollection from the day before. “Let’s see, she’s aide to the political officer, do I have that right?”
“That’s the one.” The Marine hesitated, then said, “Sir, is it true what they say, that you were in the push through Italy and all?”
“That was a long time ago, soldier. Another lifetime.”
But the Marine wasn’t finished. “And that story about you rescuing the French resistance officer and carrying him through the desert? And what about you getting behind the Russkie lines and sneaking out those scientists and helping to start up the Berlin airlift?”
Jake gaped at the young man. “Where on earth did you hear all that guff?”
“From the Frenchie, sir, I mean Major Servais. He talked about you the whole way to the hotel yesterday. Your wife too. The major stopped by here this morning, but when he saw the line of people waiting to see you, he hung around a little, talking with us here at the station, then took off.”
The young man could no longer suppress his grin. “The stories are all true, aren’t they, sir? Boy, wait until the other guys hear about this. The major said you won the Silver Star and the Croix de Guerre, had that one pinned on by DeGaulle himself, I guess that’s true too, sir?”
Jake started to brush off the admiration, then found himself staring into those clear gray eyes and wondering if perhaps he had found himself an unexpected ally. “Do you know this Mrs. Ecevit personally?”
“Oh yes, sir.” The Marine bounced to full attention at the chance to offer more than polite chitchat. “I’ve been here almost a year now. I guess I know everybody, at least enough to say hello.”
“What can you tell me about her?”
“She’s a real firecracker, sir.” The grin was hard to keep trapped, even at attention. “Sharp as a tack, too. I’ve seen her lay into that Ahmet fellow right back there in the corridor, peel skin from bone better than my drill sergeant back on Parris Island.”
“She did?” The woman’s stock just shot up. “You know why?”
“No, but I can guess. She doesn’t have time for pencil pushers and official sneaks, sir.”
“She doesn’t.”
“Not a second.” A glance around the empty hall, then, “A guy who keeps his eyes open can see a lot from here, sir. That Ahmet’s always scampering around, sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong, sucking up to the guys with perks and power.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“Sure, I mean, yessir. Anyway, I imagine he tried it once too often with the lady, and she proceeded to blister his hide.” A flicker of movement out of the corner, and the Marine snapped to rigid alert, finished with a crisp, “Sir.”
A deeper voice said, “Can I help you with anything, Colonel?”
Jake turned to face the guard sergeant, a stern-faced leatherneck with four rows of campaign ribbons. Jake nodded a greeting. “Just getting to know one of your men a little. Hope that’s all right.”
“Long as he sticks to his duty, I suppose it’s okay, sir.”
“Thank you,” Jake said, playing at ease. “What’s your name, Sergeant?”
“Adams, sir.” A half-made salute, just enough in the gesture and the eyes to let Jake know he was not going to curry favor with anyone. He was far beyond either the need or the desire.
Jake decided it was worth meeting the man head on. He glanced down at the ribbons, found two he recognized. “You were at Anzio?”
“That’s right.” The gaze sharpened. “What about you?”
Jake shook his head. “Came ashore at Syracuse. Met some of your group outside Naples. Tough assignment.”
“Yeah, ain’t they all?” The rigid reserve relaxed a notch. “There’s been a French officer around here this morning, you catch his name, Bailey?”
“Major Servais, sir.” The young Marine officer bit off the words.
“That’s the one. He had some pretty interesting tales to tell, Colonel. Any of ’em true?”
“Old war stories grow like fish caught yesterday,” Jake replied. “They get bigger with each telling.”
The measuring gaze granted him a hint of approval. “Now, ain’t that the truth.”
Jake decided it was time to plant a seed. He leaned over the guardpost barrier, said quietly, “You soldiers know what it means to be a duck out of water?”
Within the sergeant’s steely gaze appeared a glinting blade of humor. “We’re here, ain’t we?”
“I’ve been pulled from garrison duty at Badenburg, given a grand total of three weeks’ training,” Jake said, stretching the truth a mite, “then thrown out here and told to do the impossible.”
The sergeant glanced at the Marine. “Sounds just like the corps, don’t it, Bailey?”
“Sure does, Sarge.”
“What’s your first name, Corporal?” Jake demanded.
“Samuel. Samuel Bailey, sir.”
Jake nodded, as though taking the news in deep, giving it value. Then back to the sergeant. “I need use of your eyes and your ears, Sergeant. Yours and your men’s.”
Back to the measuring gaze. “This a formal requisition, Colonel?”
“If it is,” Jake replied, “then no matter how tight I try to keep it, sooner or later it’s going to become common knowledge. Two days here, and I’m already aware of that.”
A single chop of a nod in agreement. “The political officer appears to be a guy who doesn’t leave a paper trail.”
“You want me to let somebody else know we’ve talked,” Jake said, understanding him, and taking great comfort from the fact that he had suggested Barry Edders. “I don’t have any trouble with that at all. Tomorrow I’ll lay it out.” He let a little of his fatigue and his desperation show through. “I’ve got to find some people I can trust, Sergeant. And fast. I’m not asking for anything in p
articular. Just to keep watch and let me know what’s on the up and up.”
“Help you find the bear traps and the land mines,” the sergeant offered.
“That’s it exactly.”
The sergeant glanced at the soldier standing duty. “I don’t see as how I’ve got a problem with that. What about you, Bailey?”
“It’d be an honor, sir. I’m sure I can speak for all the guys. A genuine honor.”
Jake dropped his eyes in an attempt to mask the relief he felt. But he looked to find the sergeant’s steady gaze looking deep and had to say, “You don’t know what that means, finding somebody I can rely on. My back is truly to the wall.”
The leatherneck broke the hardness of his face enough to offer a quick thin-lipped smile. “Any chance of some action, Colonel? This guard duty starts to weigh heavy after a while.”
“I would say there is a good chance of that,” Jake replied, and then was struck with an idea. “How’d you like me to see if the consul general would assign one of you fellows to travel up country with me? Could be dangerous, though.”
That brought a reaction so strong Jake felt he was watching the sun appear from behind heavy cloud cover. “You just said the magic words, Colonel. Travel and danger.”
“I’ll speak with somebody first thing tomorrow morning,” Jake promised. He nodded at their crisp salutes, the sergeant’s now as snappy as the corporal’s. Then he turned back to the corridor. “And thanks.”
He walked over to where the bearded man sat slouched upon the bench. The eyes did not rise at Jake’s approach. Jake slowed, took the time to inspect the man more closely. His black suit, shiny with age, hung limply upon his bony frame. The scraggly beard was laced with gray threads. A battered and dusty fedora rested in the man’s lap.
Jake sat down on the bench, watched as the man emerged slowly from his stooped reverie and lifted hollowed cheeks and dark eyes to stare back. Then for a moment Jake found himself unable to speak. The sight of that ever-hungry gaze drew him back to another time, when he had stood outside a barbed-wire compound and watched the haggard faces of war stare back. He swallowed, managed, “They told me all the applicants had been seen.”
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