Istanbul Passage (46 page)

And saw the hat. The same floppy brim she’d worn at Tommy’s service, just in from Ankara. Not sure if it was proper to smoke in the street. Later, shy against the window light. Walking now with Melnikov. No. He kept moving. Kay raised her head, looking into the crowd. Looking for him? Or for some story Melnikov had made up to put her at ease? Part of him visible now, just over her right shoulder, as if she were a kind of shield to use before he threw her away. Someone in Ankara. The Russian desk. No. Leon hearing her voice, not the traffic, everything she had ever said, almost dizzy with it. Any of it real? None of it? Still coming toward them.

“What is it?” Alexei said, alert, a scent in the wind.

“Nothing,” Leon said, his voice hollow, emptied out.

Nothing. Wrong about everything. Walking, unable to stop. A life can change in a second and never be the same. A hand sliding away in the water. A shot fired on a quay. More voices, then Altan’s on the terrace. You have to think what’s important to you. Meaning something else. But what was? Not even a second, less, and everything changed forever. One more, and he would be them. Not an accidental killer. One of them. Twisting necks, throwing people away. Maybe he already was, the second already passed. Alexei not seeing them yet, wondering what kind of car it would be.

“No,” Leon said out loud, not even bothering to lower his voice.

Alexei turned to him, all attention, head up. A twig snapping in the woods.

“Don’t. Don’t look. Listen.” Quick, his mind racing. The others still coming. “It’s a trap. See the stairs?” Just ahead, no more than a minute at this pace. He took out the gun and slipped it into Alexei’s pocket, a thief’s movement. “Give me the duffel.” One hand over the other, then only Leon’s. “When I say, head for the stairs. After that—”

“Run,” Alexei said, finishing it.

“I’m sorry,” Leon said, the word not big enough.

“And you?”

But there was no time, not for an answer, anything. Almost at the stairs.

“Ready?” Leon said, lifting the bag. “Now.”

He pushed into the
simit
peddler, a shove with the duffel. The man pitched forward, teetering, the tray sliding off and spilling
simits
into the crowd, away from the stairs. Noises of surprise, everyone looking, then rushing to help the man, a general swarming. Leon looked up, Kay seeing him now, Melnikov coming from behind, his gaze to Leon’s right, past the commotion to the blur of Alexei running away. Alexei stopped, recognizing him, then looked back to Leon, mouth open, moving pieces. A second, just long enough for
Melnikov to raise his gun and fire. A sharp, clanging noise, the bullet hitting iron, then shrieks, sounds of panic, the
simits
scattered again as people ran for cover. Another shot as Alexei disappeared down the stairs. Melnikov started running, pushing Kay aside, everyone scattering, ducking against the bridge railing. When he reached the stairs, he glanced over at Leon, panting, his face almost a snarl, before he plunged down.

From below Leon could hear screams, shouts of protest, people being shoved. He remembered the crowds shopping, lined up for the restaurants. Another trap. Why had he sent him there? But where else could he have gone? A head start, at least, a minute to save himself.

Melnikov’s men raced after him to the stairs. Leon swiveled his head. Gülün’s men, invisible before, were rushing down from the Karaköy side. Bottling him up. Leon imagined downstairs, women crouching, men yelling, Alexei running toward the freedom of Eminönü, seeing Melnikov’s men coming down. Frantic, back and forth, the stalls a maze. Batteries and shoes and toys, knocked to the floor as people were crushed against them. Another shot, the sound different.

The bridge was still emptying, people hurrying to the ends, afraid now of being caught in any cross fire. A tram, unaware, had begun to lumber across and a few people ran over to it, hanging onto the side. Kay stood, still looking at Leon, her face bewildered, jumping when she heard the shot below. What was she seeing now? Before? Wrong about everything.

She looked behind her, a quick check, then moved toward Leon, another woman following, not a Turk, western dress. Someone Leon knew but couldn’t recognize, out of place. And then, even more confused, he did. Dorothy Wheeler. Who knew where all the files were, what Frank must have found. Who’d been walking behind Kay, next to Melnikov. I think you may be surprised. More shots from below, coming from both ends, as if they were firing at each other.

Then suddenly Alexei was at the top of the far stairs, a backtracking maneuver, his head poking up like a rabbit out of its hole, no, a fox, eyes desperate and calculating, trying to outrun the hunt. He looked around, the road almost empty, traffic stopped at either end, and started back to Karaköy, sprinting, wiry arms pumping as he came toward them. Leon could almost feel the surge of adrenaline, faster. Not far, a minute of luck, that’s all. But the fox never won. Leon saw that the bridge was like a broad open field without cover, an illusion of escape. He hadn’t saved Alexei, he’d only given him a head start to be killed. But at least running, all anyone could really hope for, a running start.

“Leon.” Kay, heading toward him too. Dorothy had disappeared. “Thank God.”

“
Stoi
! Jianu!”

The blast of a shot, Melnikov firing from the top of the stairs, more screams from the railing. Alexei turned, looking back over his shoulder, catching a second shot in his chest. The force of it almost spun him around, his body slumping over, then forcing itself back up, the last ninth life, just enough strength to lift his gun. Hand shaking, trying to keep the shot from going wild. Leon pushed Kay to the ground, covering her.

“Stay down.” Sounding like someone else, hoarse.

Another crack in the air from his right. He heard Melnikov grunt, then yelp, surprised, and looked up. The eerie quiet of a moment of elastic time. Melnikov slowly dropped to his knees, a forest trunk falling, holding his side, Alexei still bent over, but starting to move, awkward steps, staggering to some invisible finish line. Then Melnikov fired, a miss this time, but the sound speeding everything up again. Alexei tried to run faster, but his feet splayed, tripping over themselves, until they finally stopped and he crumpled onto the road, the gun clattering away from him.

“Don’t move,” Leon said to Kay, then got up and ran to Alexei,
blind to everything around him, Kay’s voice behind, men rushing toward him, the fishermen at the rail lifting their heads to watch.

“Jianu!” Melnikov called again, weaker this time.

On the stairs there was a clomping of feet, Gülün barking out some order.

Leon dropped next to Alexei. He was gulping for air, blood pouring across his upper chest.

“The gun,” he said, raspy, moving his eyes to the side. “Get the gun.”

Leon picked it up.

“Jianu!”

Leon looked behind. Melnikov getting up, holding his stomach.

“So,” Alexei said, still breathing in gasps.

“Hold on. We’ll get an ambulance for you,” Leon said. But who wanted him?

Alexei shook his head, then blinked at the gun.

“You do it. Not them.”

Leon froze, the gun suddenly cold in his hand.

Alexei nodded. “It’s time.”

Leon stared at him.

“My friend.” His eyes locked on Leon now. “Not them.”

Leon heard the scrape of a shoe on the road, Melnikov moving.

“What are you doing?” Kay said to Melnikov, somewhere in the distance.

“Do it,” Alexei said, another blink, some awful permission. He moved his hand, limp, covered with blood, to touch Leon’s arm, his eyes sure, so wide that Leon thought he could see to the back of them, who he was. “Please,” he said, his voice fainter.

Leon knelt, paralyzed. One second. Alexei looking at him as if there was no one else on the bridge. Please. Leon fired. Alexei’s body jerked, an electric jolt, his eyes even wider, then everything settled, quiet.

“Are you crazy?” Melnikov was yelling, close now, the bridge noisy again with men running.

Leon turned, as if he were protecting Alexei, already dead, with his own body. But Melnikov wasn’t aiming at Alexei, his other hand still clutching his side, bleeding, eyes rabid with fury.

“Durak,”
he said, spitting it.

When the gun went off, Leon was too surprised to duck. Here? Like this? Why now? What was the point? Shooting him no more to Melnikov than stamping his foot. Then the fire exploded in his chest, literally the heat of flames, and some force, like a hand in his face, pushed him back, falling over.

“No!” Kay yelled, hitting Melnikov, but he was pointing the gun again, feet planted apart, rooted. She reached for it, trying to force it up from the ground. Melnikov knocked her away.

“Durak,”
he said again to Leon, then looked up as more feet approached and raised the gun, a reflex. Some shouts in Turkish and then an explosion, so loud Leon thought it came from behind his ear. This time Melnikov didn’t make a sound, just looked down at the new hole in his tunic and dropped. Leon could make out Gülün kneeling by the body, gun in his hand. Something garbled in Turkish, orders.

“Leon,” Kay said, her face over him, her voice high-pitched, almost a keening. Kay only a shield. Dorothy. But what could she have known? Passed on? Why do it? Money? Maybe like Georg, lost in an idea she couldn’t let go. Now there’d be questions. Months of them, squeezing. A trial, if that was useful. Housecleaning. Protecting flanks. And then a new Melnikov would plant a new Dorothy and it would start again. Dorothy traded away. All Alexei was worth at the end. Leon heard more voices in the road, loud, then fainter, receding, the dusk suddenly getting darker.

And in some part of him, aware of what was happening, he was curious. Would it really be a white light, appearing from the end of
a tunnel and enveloping him until he was part of it? What Alexei must just have seen. But it wasn’t light, it was faces. Hazy, like underexposed film, but moving closer, until they were right next to him. Phil in his cockpit, waving. Georg walking his dog in Yildiz. Mihai at a boat rail, the faint suggestion of a smile. And then Anna. In Lily’s garden that first spring, worried because they were happy. Before anything happened. Her face so close now he felt he could touch it. All the faces of his life. Then they went away.

“Finally,” a voice said. “I’ll get the nurse.”

Light. Not that light, the enveloping one, just daylight. White walls.

“Leon?”

A face. Mihai. Leon tried to speak, his tongue stuck. “Some water.”

“Yes, yes.”

A plastic straw, a stream of cool liquid soaking into his dry throat.

“They said you’d be dehydrated, even with the drip.”

Mihai’s face now in focus, concerned.

“Where is this?”

“Obstbaum’s. I had you moved. The hospital, there’s a risk of infection. Even Kleinman said. After an operation.”

“An operation.”

“He had to take a piece of your lung. Where the bullet hit. Take a breath. See? A little less. No more smoking, so maybe a good thing. Not so good for your business, though. Considering.”

Leon tried to smile, then wet his cracked lips with the straw.

“You’re lucky, you know that? A matter of inches, he said, and then— And now look. The man of the hour. Watch, they’ll give you a medal. Something. What for? Being lucky.” He shrugged. “But that’s what they’re always for, isn’t it?”

Leon tried to follow this, still catching up. “How are you here? You were—”

“How? The train. From Aleppo. Like always.”

“That’s days.”

“Two. You’ve been out. Maybe Rabbi Pilcer prayed for you. He has a direct line,” he said, pointing a finger up. “So he thinks. Somebody must have. You almost died.”

“Yes.”

“Yes? You knew?”

“It doesn’t feel like anything,” Leon said to the ceiling, then looked back. “I saw you.”

Mihai stopped, thrown by this, then took the water away. “Wonderful. With wings? This is what happens? A little disappointing.”

Leon reached over the sheet to cover Mihai’s hand, resting it there. Mihai looked up, surprised, not sure how to respond.

“The ship?”

Mihai nodded. “All safe. Four hundred new citizens. So thank you for that.”

Leon shook his head. “Him. Jianu. He made them let you go.”

“Why? For his sins? You think he feels something? Not that one.”

“How do you know?”

“A man tries to cut your throat, you know everything about him.”

Leon was quiet, looking toward the window, everything else too complicated.

“You don’t forget what that’s like. Ever,” Mihai said, touching his neck, as if a knife had actually been there. He looked away.
“Anyway, it’s finished now. He pays. It’s what I said from the first. The first night.”

“That’s not why I killed him.”

“Why you killed him,” Mihai said slowly, looking at Leon. “No? Why?”

“He asked me.”

Mihai didn’t say anything to this.

“He wanted me to do it.”

“Leon,” Mihai said gently, “maybe it’s a little fast, all this. So much talk.” He paused. “Altan said, the Russians. People saw them. It’s still a little confusing, maybe. All the drugs—”