The Dardanelles Conspiracy by Alan Bardos (best ereader for pc TXT) 📗

wife, taking you to see the Minister of the Interior. We’re trying to impress each other. I think I’m winning.’

Johnny laughed. ‘That's the sort of thing your sister would have said.’

‘I taught her well.’ Esther huddled under her shawl and looked reassured by its embrace. 'Were you and Kati close, Mr Swift?’

‘Not as close as I would have liked, unfortunately… Probably my fault, I made some very poor choices.’

‘Yes, that doesn’t surprise me,’ Esther answered, not unkindly.

They drove onto a wide bridge. Men were dangling fishing rods over the side, hunched under the rain that began to drum down on the car. Johnny could make out elegant domes and minarets dominating the skyline on the other side of the bridge.

He began to shiver and took his jacket off. The rain had soaked through and tried to avoid Esther's knowing look. She took off her shawl and wrapped him in it. He could feel her warmth on it.

‘Thank you.’ Johnny reached out to take her hand and she snatched it away.

Esther gave him a hard look. ‘You have to be on top form when we see Talat. It’s bad enough that you have been drinking. Don’t try and deny it.’

‘Why would I deny it? It’s the only thing that’s kept me alive so far.’

The car reached the end of the bridge and nudged its way into a crowded medieval maze of shops and stalls, making slow progress against the evening chaos of the old town. Immersed in the smoke of chestnut sellers, the car weaved its way around a mass of hawkers and merchants.

‘This is no time to be melodramatic, Johnny. Mehmed Talat Pasha is a very savvy man. He started as a telegraph clerk and now he has the power to turn the tide of the war.’

Johnny looked at Esther and waited for the cries of a street trader to fade before answering. ‘Yes, but aren’t we just making a polite social call to see how things stand?’

‘The point that I’m trying to make is that everything that Talat has, he got for himself. He’s not going to risk it all on your word, so please try and act with a hint of decorum.’

The great orange and black domes of Hagia Sophia, rose majestically above them as the car followed the wall of the Topkapi palace. Its engine straining as it turned into a crooked cobblestone street of dilapidated wooden houses.

A policeman standing in the middle of the road stopped the car to examine their papers and then waved them past. To Johnny’s surprise the car pulled up outside one of the houses.

‘Talat Pasha lives here? He certainly hasn’t forgotten his humble origins.’

‘He likes to stay in touch with the people,’ Esther said, and stepped out of the car.

Talat's house was far from the sumptuous palace that Johnny would have thought worthy of a Turkish pasha. His study was equally as plain as the exterior of the house. The only decorations were a few simple prints of Istanbul on the walls, a divan and some rugs that had certainly seen better days. If that wasn’t reminder enough of Talat’s past, a rectangular desk in the corner had a telegraph machine on it.

‘Are you sure this is the right person to speak to? Not exactly luxurious, is it?’ Johnny said, disappointed.

‘What were you expecting? Concubines and Turkish delight?’ Esther asked.

‘That would have been nice.’

A window in the wall behind the desk snapped open and a woman in her mid-twenties peered out at them, through a grate. Johnny bowed, in impression of a German diplomat, and the window snapped back rudely.

‘That was Talat’s wife,’ Esther said, ‘and no, she won’t be joining us.’

‘I see. Shouldn’t you go and join her? I mean, being a woman. It might be unwise to cause offence.’

'An exception is made in my case – Papa insisted – but ultimately there was no other way to take Talat’s portrait if I was not in the same room as him and in the end he decided to let me stay.’

The door opened and a large, powerfully built man in his forties strode in, wearing a fez and grey pyjamas, apparently expecting an informal visit from an old acquaintance. ‘My dear Esther Hanim, you are most welcome.’

‘Thank you, Your Excellency. May I present…’

‘Oh yes, von Jager, the German diplomat of your acquaintance, from Sofia,’ Talat said.

Johnny clicked his heels and bowed stiffly. Talat looked at him curiously then turned to Esther. ‘Tell me, young man, do you wish to do her justice? Is that why you are here, to seek approval? Or is it to see if her connections are worthy of an up and coming diplomat?’

He glared at Johnny with dark eyes. His large nose was like a battering ram, poised over a thick moustache. A lot of Talat’s muscle was running to fat, nonetheless he presented a formidable figure. Johnny’s Turkish was still a bit shaky, but he got the impression that he’d managed to offend him already. Johnny looked down submissively, not wishing to provoke Talat’s anger any further.

‘No, I have no intention of doing that, Your Excellency. This visit is purely social,’ Johnny said. Talat looked at him shrewdly and Esther repeated it in clear concise Turkish.

Talat threw his huge arms up in the air and roared with laughter. Apparently Talat had been joking with Johnny.

He waved at some chairs in front of his desk. ‘Please, won’t you take a seat?’

Talat sat at the desk, commanding the room. Johnny felt like he’d just been subjected to a test that he’d failed.

The door swung open and a little girl carrying a tray of cigarettes and coffee was shoved into the room. She approached them cautiously and placed the tray on a small silver table. She offered them cigarettes and then began to