One thing was clear to me; I had to go back to Istanbul. I couldn’t just go to London. I had to follow this whole thing through, find out what Alek had been up to.
I thought about telling Peter and Isabel about my hunch. But I held back. What would stop them from checking my theory out before I had a chance to? Nothing. All it would take would be one phone call. Then it would be just like after Irene had died. Go home, sir. We’ll look into it.
That wasn’t going to happen this time.
I could taste dust in the air as we waited. Then an official came, gave our passports a cursory glance and waved us through. Peter and Isabel told me to board our plane. The plan was to take off as quickly as possible. Peter said we would only be making ourselves a target if we stayed any longer. They hurried off to see if we could get clearance for a quick turnaround. I made a phone call, then stretched out in my seat, dozed. Presumably getting clearance wasn’t as easy as it might be. I drifted off. It was almost one o’clock in the morning.
A sense of foreboding came over me when I woke. I’d only been asleep for maybe twenty minutes.
Memories of Father Gregory, the flames and the pall of dust after the bomb had exploded played in my mind.
It took about an hour for Isabel and Peter to return. I felt shattered.
‘You ready, Sean?’ shouted Peter when he put his head in the cabin. A hum of engine fuel wafted in as he entered. A refuelling truck was driving away.
‘What took you so long?’ I rubbed my eyes.
‘Sorry.’ Isabel gave me a wide smile as if sleeping was something she didn’t need to do.
‘Where are we heading ?’ I said. It was time to tell them.
‘London.’ She sat opposite me.
‘I want to go back to Istanbul,’ I said, confidently.
Peter sat down heavily beside me.
‘Sorry. No can do.’ They looked at each other.
‘You know there’s probably a bounty on your head in Turkey?’ said Isabel.
‘I don’t care.’ The idea that there might be a reward involved hadn’t occurred to me. But other things had. And I’d made that phone call too, while I’d been waiting.
‘We are talking about the people who cut Alek’s head off, Sean.’ She spoke calmly, as if describing a rose bush in her garden that had been cut back.
‘There are things I have to do, Isabel. I called a contact in Istanbul, woke him up. He wasn’t happy. But he forgave me. He’s in the department who commissioned us. He says none of this should disrupt our project, that the media speculation will all blow over. He said if I wanted to come back, he’d see me anytime. So I’m going back to Istanbul, now or later. Why don’t we go that way? You can drop me off.’ I pointed in what I imagined was the general direction of Turkey, though I could have been pointing towards Cairo or Rome.
‘What is your hurry?’ said Peter. He sounded suspicious.
‘I need to see where Alek was working. I can’t do a proper report for the Institute without going there. I have to go back to Istanbul as soon as possible.’
‘I don’t see the urgency,’ said Isabel. She flicked a strand of hair from her face. It was a reasonable observation.
But to answer it I’d have had to tell her how much the project meant to us at the Institute. How much Alek had been looking forward to it. How excited he’d been. How he’d infected us all with his enthusiasm. And how I felt responsible for what had happened. And, more importantly, now that I had a clue as to where he’d taken those photos, how I had to follow it up.
But I wasn’t going to tell them that. ‘I’d better get off here then,’ I said.
‘Very funny,’ said Peter.
‘I don’t see a lot of security. What are you going to do, kidnap me?’ I looked Peter in the eye. ‘My colleague’s been murdered. And now you want to take me prisoner. That’s some help you’re providing. Thanks a lot.’
‘Why is it so important you go back to Istanbul now, Sean? We’re trying to protect you. If we did detain you it would not be kidnapping anyway. We’d be delivering you home. You do live in London.’ Isabel snapped her seat belt closed.
‘Is there something you haven’t told us? Some other reason you want to go back to Istanbul,’ said Peter.
‘I’ve heard enough,’ I said. I undid my seat belt. The plane’s engines had started, but they were just ticking over.
‘Be sensible, Sean,’ said Peter. ‘Your involvement in all this is over. Think clearly. We do have to decide what level of ongoing protection you’ll need back in London. You know I’m concerned about your safety. And you should be too. Now sit down.’ His voice was firm. Threatening people was probably something he was very good at.
‘I’m getting off this plane,’ I said.
‘Would your wife have agreed to your being so reckless?’ said Isabel. She put her hand up to block me.
I put a hand out to push hers away. Her eyes were wide, as if she was amazed at my intransigence.
‘We’ve got very good reasons to be concerned for you,’ she said. ‘Your colleague was murdered for God’s sake. Wake up, Sean. You’re in danger.’
‘You assume I give a flying frack about that.’ I looked in her eyes, saw a flicker of something – empathy maybe. Or perhaps it was pity.
‘Don’t try to stop me.’ I took a step towards the passageway.
Peter rose, half blocking me. I pushed past him before he could do anything.
‘Don’t be stupid Sean,’ said Isabel. ‘You’re a material witness to a terrorist incident. We have powers to detain you.’
I pushed Peter’s shoulder down hard as he grabbed at me. I made it past him to the door and turned the handle. An alarm went off. I pushed the door open. The plane’s engines died. A hundred yards away, illuminated by the bright lights of the airport building, a green-uniformed guard with a gun was looking in our direction.
‘I’m not going back to London,’ I said. ‘I’ll jump out, even if we start moving.’ I looked back at them.
‘You are one stubborn bastard,’ said Peter loudly. But he made no move to get up.
‘All I want is to be taken back to where you picked me up.’
‘Is everything all right?’ a voice called out. I looked around. It was the pilot. He was standing in the doorway to the cockpit.
‘It will be,’ said Peter. Then he sighed, loudly. ‘Maybe we can go back to Istanbul.’ He said it softly, as if he was talking to himself.
Isabel looked surprised. Then her head moved, like a metronome, from side to side. ‘He should go back to London,’ she said, looking at Peter.
‘I will, later,’ I said.
‘Pilot, change of plan. Let’s go back to Istanbul,’ said Peter. He pointed at me. ‘But there’ll be a price to pay, Sean. We’ll stick like glue to you in Istanbul.’
‘I don’t need a babysitter.’
‘We’ll make you stand out like a bandaged thumb, if you don’t cooperate.’
I didn’t reply. I was thinking.
‘How long do you intend to stay there, Sean?’ said Isabel.
‘A few days.’
‘You’ll be staying in my place,’ said Peter.
I stared into his blue, unblinking eyes. If they flew me to London, I could be on the next scheduled flight to Istanbul in hours. Or I could try to get off this plane. But God only knew what the schedule from Mosul to Istanbul was. I might have to go to Baghdad to fly out of this country. Then they’d follow me around as soon as I got to Istanbul anyway. Maybe I shouldn’t even have told them I wanted to go back there. Now it looked like the only choice I had was to work with them.
‘OK, I agree,’ I said. A worried look flashed across Isabel’s face.
‘You don’t want to go back to your quiet life?’ she said.
‘No, I have to do this.’
‘Close the door, and give me your phone, Sean. We’ll put a tracker in it,’ said Peter. ‘We wouldn’t want you getting lost in Istanbul, like your colleague.’
‘W
e’re flying to Istanbul, no detours?’
‘No detours.’
I passed him my phone.
‘It needs a charge.’
He turned the phone in his hand, examining it.
‘We’ll charge it,’ he said, languidly.
I took my seat.
‘And I want to know everything that you plan to do in Istanbul,’ he said.
‘I’ll make up a list.’ I looked out the window. It was still dark as we taxied to the runway. As we rose high into the sky and turned I saw the dawn far off, a glimmer in the sky beyond the Zagros Mountains like something from a Biblical painting, spreading a golden glow from the east. What time was it back in London? My brain felt too fried to work it out.
Having someone coming around with me was going to make it difficult to do everything I wanted in Istanbul, but maybe it was for the best. I looked at Isabel. She had rescued me from my hotel. I’d probably be lying next to Alek if she hadn’t.
A few minutes later Peter went to the toilet.
Isabel used the tip of her pointed boot to nudge my leg. ‘If there are other reasons you want to go to Istanbul, you have to tell me,’ she said. ‘I’m on your side. I hope you haven’t forgotten that.’
‘I haven’t.’
‘So what’s the rush to get to Istanbul?’
‘I’ll tell you later.’
Her expression became serious. She sat forward in her seat and looked at me. ‘Don’t play games, Sean. If you know anything that could lead to the arrest of any suspects in our investigation, you must reveal that information or you could be charged with obstructing justice.’
‘Why do you assume I won’t tell you?’ I said. ‘And what are you going to do if I don’t, torture me? With your shoe, perhaps?’
I smiled, then went back to staring out the window.
‘You’ve got an idea where Alek took those photos, haven’t you?’
‘Are they all like you where you come from, Miss Sharp?’
‘No. I come from a perfect English village, where floral-dressed women go to summer fetes at this time of year and worry about their cake recipes, not who’s going to die next.’ Her voice broke a little, as she said the word die. She looked unusually vulnerable for a few seconds.
‘You didn’t have an idyllic childhood then,’ I said.
She looked away, then back at me. ‘I did, until it happened.’ She glanced towards the back of the plane.
‘My mother died when I was fifteen. Just when I needed her most. Then my dad cracked up. I had to work two jobs to get through uni. I’ve never had it easy.’
I spoke slowly. ‘Both my parents died in my twenties,’ I said. ‘That was a bad year. Irene got me through it.’
‘She must have been a good person.’
We sat in silence for a minute. Death had affected us both.
‘I used to be able to sense storms coming when I was young,’ said Isabel, softly. ‘I’d get funny prickly feelings. You know I’m getting those now.’ She rubbed her arms. She had goosebumps, pale molehills on her amber skin.
‘Maybe it’s an omen,’ I said.
‘Maybe Peter adjusted the air conditioning,’ she said.
The buffeting of wind on the plane grew stronger suddenly, as we banked, changing direction.
‘I don’t believe in omens,’ she said. She sounded firm, as if she was trying to convince herself.
‘Look.’ I pointed out the window. A Venusian landscape of angry grey clouds lay below us.
Her face was serious.
‘All chummy now, are we?’ said Peter as he sat down again. The stubble on his chin was gone.
‘Do you believe any of that djinn stuff Father Gregory was going on about?’ said Isabel, ignoring Peter.
‘People used to believe the world was full of evil spirits,’ I said. ‘They had no other way to explain things they didn’t understand. That’s my explanation for evil spirits. And I’m sticking to it.’
I looked out the window. We had no fighter escort this time. Below us, the huge carpet of brooding clouds stretched endlessly. Above, the sky was china blue. We’d probably already passed into Turkish airspace.
I thought about Father Gregory again. It was hard to stop thinking about what had happened.
‘I managed to make contact with Mark,’ said Peter. It was almost as if he’d read my mind, or maybe my face had given away what I was thinking.
‘Father Gregory is in hospital, in intensive care. His buddy didn’t make it.’
I closed my eyes. I was too tired to take it all in. At least one of them had survived. I needed to sleep. I didn’t want to think any more.
When we reached Istanbul, the sky was still a mass of angry clouds. I imagined we’d brought the bad weather with us, as if some jinx was following us.
Luckily, we didn’t have to wait for our passports to be checked with the other tourists. Peter knocked on a side door in the main passport hall and we passed through a long white corridor to a large white room. There, a bored-looking official at a polished wooden desk stamped our passports after checking them.
We’d agreed that I would meet my contact, Abdal Gokan, the Director of the Laboratory for Conservation, the following day at the time I’d arranged. Isabel would come with me; I’d be tracked. I imagined MI6 operatives talking into their sleeves, trailing us in packs. What transpired was nothing like that.
A door beyond the room where our passports were checked led directly to the public area of the airport. Peter hadn’t given anything away about himself during the whole flight. He was clearly used to deflecting questions, saying a lot while saying nothing. But I had found out that Isabel had worked for the police before joining the Foreign Office.
We were met in the arrivals hall by an unsmiling grey-haired, grey-suited driver. He led us to a Chrysler minivan with blackened windows. We were stared at by three hulking dark-suited characters standing nearby as we climbed in. They looked like they were trying to memorise our faces. Istanbul was hotter, if anything, than when I’d arrived a few days ago, despite the clouds moving slowly over our heads.
Half an hour after leaving the airport we arrived at the tall, wrought-iron gates of Peter’s villa. We all needed some sleep, he said. He was right.
The reality of everything that had happened was sinking in like a brick in a pool. During the car journey across Istanbul, Peter had received a call. Father Gregory had died in hospital overnight.
I felt ill, and a sense of foreboding.
Pink roses hung in drifts along the top of the high, whitewashed wall, which stretched away on either side of the gates to Peter’s villa. This was clearly an upmarket suburb of Istanbul.
Isabel hadn’t said a word after Peter’s announcement of Father Gregory’s death. She looked pale.
The tall gates made a loud grating noise as they opened. An impeccably dressed man in a navy suit stood to one side as our driver pulled into the gravel courtyard.
‘Sleep well,’ said Isabel, softly. The driver jumped out, came around and opened my door. I took a deep breath as I adjusted to the heat after the air conditioned car.
‘You too, old girl,’ said Peter, as he got out.
‘Safe home,’ I said to Isabel. Then I got out.
Isabel called after me. ‘I’ll pick you up in the morning, at about eight.’
I turned. She gave me a knowing look, then a genuine smile. Her mask had slipped a little on the plane, and I was glad. There was something about her that reminded me a lot of Irene. The way she pushed her hair back behind her ears. Her smile. It was a little spooky.
As the car door closed I caught a last glimpse of black hair.
‘I have to go out tonight but my man will prepare dinner for you. We don’t want you wandering the streets,’ said Peter as we went inside.
I’d made the appointment to meet Abdal Gokan at 9:00 AM, at his offices the next day, Wednesday. It was lunchtime, but all I wanted was a proper bed. I felt like I hadn’t slept in days.
; I shook my head and said, ‘Don’t worry, I won’t be going anywhere.’
After a quick shower and a snack of soft bread and crumbly white cheese that was brought to me in my spacious all-white bedroom, I paced up and down for a while, my mind still racing, but my body aching to sleep. The window in my room overlooked the front courtyard. The sound of Istanbul’s incessant traffic didn’t reach the room except for the occasional blast of a distant car horn.
After going through everything that had happened and my plans for the next day, I finally fell asleep. The luxurious feel of the cool cotton sheets was wonderful.
Peter wasn’t around when I woke later that evening. Nor was anyone else, except his ‘man’, the guy who’d met us at the front door.
He was as discreet a servant as I’d ever met. Not one word did I get out of him about Peter. Nothing. Not when he’d left, where he was, when he might be due back. Nothing.
He brought me dinner in my room though, set it on a round table near the window. I had turned on the Sony LCD TV. The BBC World news service was on. I turned it off after he left the room – the endless roll call of the problems in the world was too depressing.
As I listened to the faint hum of the city, still tired, feeling like I wanted to sleep again soon, I thought about everything that had happened.
Where was all this leading? Peter had claimed, when he’d told us Father Gregory had died, that it had been the third such attack on his convoy in as many weeks. Why hadn’t he told me that when he’d asked me if I wanted to travel with Father Gregory? Was it just a coincidence?
It took me a long time to drift off and my dreams were disturbed when I finally did. In one of them Isabel was walking away from me and I was trying to catch her. And I couldn’t. Something was preventing me.
The Istanbul Puzzle Page 10
