Jihad

CHAPTER 23

Istanbul lay at the intersection of two continents; historically it was the crossroads of several great civilizations. For Tommy Karr, this meant one thing: great food.

And lots of it. He began with a plate of mezes or appetizers, a mixed bag of exotic salads, minced vegetables, and brightly colored dips. Eggplant, yogurt, and olives reappeared in various combinations, accented with strange spices and little green curlicues he assumed were herbs. He couldn’t identify a single dish, but that only added to the adventure. He wolfed them down with the help of a triangular piece of pitalike flat bread, whetting his appetite for the main course: grilled palamut, a local fish specialty. A silvery pair arrived with their heads poking up from the center of the plate, eyeballing him like the evil eye charms available on the nearby street corner.

“Almost seems a shame to bother them, huh?” Karr said to the waiter, picking up his fork. “Maybe I’ll just eat around them.”

“Tommy, can you talk?” asked Sandy Chafetz from the Art Room.

Karr waited for the server to leave, then prodded one of the fish. “You’re sure you’re dead, right? If I talk to you, will you answer?”

“Two cars have pulled up a block from Asad’s safe house,” said Chafetz. “Can you check them out?”

“On my way.” Karr rose, digging into his pocket for some Turkish bills.

The waiter came over immediately.

“I’m afraid I just realized I have another appointment and I’m a little late,” said Karr. “Think I could get the fish to go?”