The Star of Istanbul

55

Tigran had brought a bottle of raki in his saddle bag, figuring we’d need it. So before riding away from the village, we stood in a circle before our horses and passed the bottle, drinking it deep and slow, prolonging the burn.

When the bottle was empty, Tigran returned it to his saddle bag, which deeply struck me as the right thing to do. He didn’t want to litter this place.

And as we rose to our saddles and settled in, Arshak looked to me and said, “Will you help us do this thing, Christopher Cobb?”

My answer to this had also been confirmed in the wheat field.

“I will,” I said. “But we have to figure a way to get her out after the deed is done.”

He stiffened and nodded and I knew he’d been wrestling with this himself.

And as well intentioned as I was, it took until the sun was verging into late afternoon and we had crested the mountain north of Ortakiöi before I realized how stupid I’d been for these past few hours. How self-absorbed.

I spurred my horse ahead and drew alongside Arshak.

“We need to talk,” I said. “Not at a gallop.”

He nodded and drew us all up.

He said something to the others in Armenian, no doubt announcing a piss break. We all dismounted and the other three moved away separately.

“Look,” I said to Arshak. “I think I’ve been an idiot. On the ship from Constanţa, did you meet a trim man, maybe forty or a little older, with muttonchop whiskers?”

His face instantly pinched tight in concern. “I did. What is it?”

“I saw a man like that when I got into the taxi with you at the quay. I think he was following me.”

“Why?”

“What did he say to you?”

Arshak shook his head, like it was nothing, it was trivial. “Just small talk.”

“What kind of small talk?”

“Why was he following you?” Arshak said.

I wanted his account first. But I said, “It’s possible he’s working for the Germans.”

“We spoke English. He sounded like an American.”

“Brauer sounded like an American,” I said.

“Why was he following you?”

“To kill me. If it’s who I think it is. Lucine probably didn’t get around to telling you I’d done likewise to a German agent in a doorway in London.”

“If she did, I might actually be liking you by now,” Arshak said.

“Look,” I said. “This could involve Lucine. Tell me what he said.”

“Small talk.”

“What about? Where you were from?”

“Yes.”

“And you said?”

“London. He was from Philadelphia.”

“Did he notice your accent?”

“Yes. Greek, I told him. I’m not stupid.”

“Was he looking at you closely when he talked?”

“Yes.”

“Brauer was also at the Block and Tackle when you met Lucine.”

Arshak stiffened. No more trying to slough this off.

“He stayed outside,” I said. “But he saw you leave. He had a good look at you. He knew you were doing something on the sly with Selene Bourgani. You went to a room around the corner.”

“It’s a safe place for us. It’s clean.”

“How long were you there?”

“I left by dawn.”

“Long enough for them to put somebody outside to follow you.”

Arshak looked away, his mouth pinched in a thin line. I’d felt like that a few minutes ago. Then he looked back to me. “Did he see us in the taxi?”

“He saw something,” I said. “I’m not sure how much.”

Arshak thought hard about this a moment.

“You’re a theater man,” I said. “Did you believe the muttonchops?”

This took him off guard. Arshak tried to figure this question out.

“The man’s muttonchops,” I said.

“I didn’t look at them closely. Maybe not, now that you mention it.”

“We need to ride,” I said. “If he puts you and me together, even if he believed Lucine’s disguise — and he’d be the one to see through it — she’s still linked back to me through you.”

He called out something in Armenian. Probably “Stop pissing, put your dicks away, and let’s go.”

And we all rode away at full gallop.