Istanbul (28 page)

‘What’s wrong?’

There was a deafening explosion and the world went black.

He lay on his back on the cobblestones. He sat up, his ears ringing. There was blood on his hands but he couldn’t find a wound. He appeared to be uninjured.

‘Daniela?’

She lay beside him, face down. Please God, no. He rolled her over, thinking the blood came from her. ‘Daniela!’

Her eyes flickered open.

‘Are you all right?’ His voice sounded as if it was coming from a long way away. He put up a hand, realized the blood was leaking from his ear.

Daniela threw her arms around his neck.

‘Are you hurt?’ he said.

She shook her head.

He looked up the street. The man with the briefcase had disappeared, there was just a stain on the ground where he had been. A human hand lay on the tram lines.

Donaldson and the attaché were just bundles of bloody rags on the pavement. If it were not for Daniela, he would be dead too.

‘I thought I was too late,’ she said.

‘What?’ He could hardly hear her, he could hardly hear anything.

‘I thought I was too late.’

‘You knew?’

‘I can’t lose you,’ Daniela said.

He staggered to his feet, helped her up from the ground. He felt nauseous, his balance was gone. ‘You have to get out of here,’ he said to her. ‘Before the police arrive.’

‘You’re hurt.’

‘I’m fine. Run.’ He pushed her away. She staggered, then hurried towards Son of the Slave Street. She looked back once, then was gone.

In the distance he heard the clang of a bell as the first police car headed down Istiklal Boulevard.

CHAPTER 66

Abrams poured three fingers of whisky into a glass and put it on the desk in front of Nick. ‘You look like you need it,’ he said.

‘Maier,’ Nick said.

‘What was that?’

‘Maier planted that bomb. He had Donaldson murdered.’

There was ringing in his right ear. The doctor said the explosion had ruptured an ear drum.

Abrams sat down, crossed his hands over his stomach and considered. ‘Murder’s rather a strong word to use when men are getting slaughtered in their thousands in Italy and North Africa.’

‘If it wasn’t for Trojan, I would be dead now.’

‘Trojan?’

‘I saw her there just before the bomb went off. She saved my life.’

‘I was supposed to join the three of you for lunch. If it wasn’t for an urgent call from the Australian Ambassador’s office, I’d be dead too. Asked you to come with me, if you remember. Just fate, old boy.’

‘The only way she could have known is if Maier told her.’

Abrams leaned forward, pushed a brown manila envelope across the desk. ‘These are the transcripts of the interrogation of the NKVD agent the Abwehr captured in Sofia. He didn’t just claim that there was a Russian agent inside this consulate. He gave him a name.’

‘And?’

‘Donaldson.’

‘
Donaldson?
’

‘Here’s something else for you to think about. Four days ago there was an attempt on Stalin’s life.’

‘What?’

‘A Russian lieutenant general by the name of Feoderev tried to smuggle a briefcase loaded with explosives into the Kremlin. The NKVD were tipped off and were about to arrest him when he shot himself in the head. At this stage, we think Feoderev was part of an Abwehr plot. If Stalin was dead and Russia withdrew from the alliance, Canaris would have a better chance to negotiate a separate peace.’

‘Who was Feoderev?’

‘One of Stalin’s chiefs of staff at Stalingrad. He had been decorated three times and made a hero of the Soviet Union by Stalin himself. Apparently his son was captured by the Germans and they may have used that as a lever. Who knows? Or perhaps he saw himself as a patriot.’

‘What about Donaldson?’

‘If he was working for the Russians, then the Abwehr needed to get rid of him. Who knows what damage he’s done while he’s been here?’

‘This is going to cause a furore in Whitehall.’

‘Only if it gets out.’

They looked at each other.

‘Both our careers would be finished. We’d be tainted with this for the rest of our lives,’ Abrams said.

‘It must come out eventually.’

‘Why?’

Nick thought about this: Abrams was right. Why?

‘Whitehall will want to know why Donaldson was murdered.’

‘Perhaps someone wanted to kill the American military attaché. Perhaps it was a mistake. People will be blowing smoke in their eyes from every direction, Davis.’

Nick was silent a moment, thinking this through. ‘Could Donaldson have tipped the Russians off about the assassination plot?’

‘Possibly. If he had someone working for him inside the Abwehr who found out about it. The question is, who?’

‘Maier may be able to tell us that.’

‘If he comes over.’

‘He will.’

‘The fact is, I shan’t miss Donaldson. Anyone on the payroll of the NKVD probably isn’t cut out for His Majesty’s diplomatic service.’

‘Do we know the identity of the bomber?’

‘The Emniyet are working on it. But it’s going to prove rather difficult, I imagine. They found a part of his forehead on a balcony about twenty yards from the explosion. Apparently he had a wart over his right eyebrow. It’s not much to go on.’

‘And the bomb?’

‘We suspect it was set off by remote control. No doubt the bomber had been told he would have time to get away. They lied to him. Terrible thing, lies.’

Nick finished the whisky. ‘What’s going to happen now?’

‘The war will go on. Business as usual. Take the day off, Davis. Go home, get some sleep. You look awful.’

But Nick did not go home. Instead he walked down to the Galata Bridge to try and clear his head. He thought he could not trust Daniela, but she had saved his life; Maier was his enemy, but he wanted to be his friend; Donaldson was his chief, but he had been working for the Russians. He did not know what to believe any more. He did not know if he even believed in belief itself.

They made slow love by the light of a single candle on the bedside table. Charcoal burners glowed in the corners of the room. They were both bruised and shaken, and their lovemaking was tentative. Afterwards they lay in each other’s arms, the warmth of each other’s bodies making life seem even more precious. ‘How did you know?’ he whispered.

‘I heard Maier talking. On the telephone.’

‘Who was he talking to?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘What else did he say?’

‘Just that there would be a bomb. I knew that you worked for Donaldson. I had to be sure you weren’t with him.’

‘When did this happen?’

‘This morning, it couldn’t have been more than an hour before it happened. I made up some excuse to get out of the house and came looking for you.’

He made love to her again. They said death was an aphrodisiac, or the touch of it, at least. Their breathless murmuring was drowned by distant thunder that rattled the glass in the windowpanes. Daniela gasped and arched her back with him as the storm broke over the city, icy rain like gravel thrown at the windows, the old house moaning in the wind.

Even the grey of the sky seemed vivid. He forgot about the future. He was just thankful to be alive, and to be able to hold her in his arms once more.

She slept in the crook of his arm and he listened to the deep, even rhythm of her breathing. After a while she rolled away from him and he turned on his side to watch her, her hair fanned out on the pillow.

She slept for perhaps an hour, her right arm tossed carelessly over her head. Her bad dreams had become more frequent lately; once she had taken his pillow from under his head and hurled it across the room. But tonight at least she slept as peacefully as a child.

Hours yet before she had to go home; instead he could only think of the days and weeks that she would sleep somewhere else.

‘Marry me,’ he whispered.

Her eyes blinked open. ‘You’re already married, Nick.’

‘Soon I won’t be. She wants a divorce.’

She sat up, startled.

‘I want you to leave him,’ he said, confident that his logic would defeat her. ‘You can’t put yourself in any more danger. The Germans are losing this war. Let me protect you.’

She shook her head.

‘I can get a posting to Rome or Paris when all this is over. I can arrange a British passport for you. I’ve already spoken to Abrams.’

She tried to bring his mouth towards her, the kiss he ached for whenever they were apart. But now he pulled away, trading the moment to contend with her.

‘I don’t want you to leave her.’

‘It’s my decision.’

‘I can’t take you away from your family.’ She tried to roll away but he caught her shoulder.

‘What if Maier wasn’t around? What would you do?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You must have thought about it.’

‘Let’s not do this now.’

‘Stay here tonight.’

‘I can’t,’ she said and she put her face in her pillow.

Outside, the storm had passed, was no more than a distant rumbling over the Sea of Marmara. A thousand gutters leaked water onto the cobblestones, everything cold and shining wet.

He took her hand, squeezed it, as if he could force her to see things his way. ‘How can you live this way?’

‘You don’t understand. It’s so easy for you.’

‘Easy? How can you say it’s easy?’

She took his hand and placed it on her breast. ‘You’ll always be here, Nick. In my heart. Even if we’re far away from each other, you’ll still have a place right here inside me.’

He wanted to rage at her: What good is that to me? How can I take comfort from something I cannot see? These were the times he wanted to end it, find peace from this endless longing, the grinding jealousy, the waiting, the not knowing.

If only he could find the strength to do it.

She got out of bed and walked naked to the bathroom. There were a hundred ways she knew to escape his questions. It was like trying to catch smoke.

CHAPTER 67

Abrams was convinced that Maier would have to make his move soon. He wanted Nick to meet with him again, push him to make a decision. Nick telephoned Maier and arranged a meeting in a coffee shop in the old city the next day.

Maier got there late. Nick ordered coffee. Tendrils of steam rose from the tiny cup, the liquid had the consistency of boiling mud, but it revived him. Turkish coffee hit the heart like an electric shock, dark and bitter and very, very strong.

The hammering from the blacksmith next door all but drowned out the wail of music from the radio. Tinkers went past on bicycles, wheels slipping on the ice. A few old men in frayed brown suits smoked water pipes and sipped from little glasses of tea while they played backgammon

Nick checked his watch again. Where was he?

When he finally appeared he had a fedora pulled down over his eyes against the wind and the collar of his grey overcoat turned up around his chin.

He sat down. There were no formalities.

Nick ordered more coffees.

‘How’s the spice business?’ Nick said.

‘I know nothing about the spice business. I couldn’t care less about it.’ He lit a cigarette. Three attempts to light the match. ‘You know Kaltenbrunner has written to Hitler?’ Kaltenbrunner was Himmler’s deputy in the SD. ‘I saw a copy of the letter, it was smuggled out of the Reichstag by one of our own people. He said the Abwehr operation here in Istanbul was ‘a viper’s nest’! A fine testimonial after we have served our country so faithfully, don’t you think?’

‘Why are you telling me this?’

Maier exhaled a long stream of smoke. ‘I do not wish to see Germany destroyed by the Nazis.’

‘You have decided to defect?’

‘Defect is such an ugly word. I do not wish to be a traitor to my friends and colleagues but I cannot continue to serve the Nazis. That is the truth of it.’

‘What do you want, Herr Maier?’

‘If you help me I will tell you everything I know about our Istanbul operation.’

‘Will you tell us what you know about Donaldson?’

A moment’s hesitation. ‘Of course. But I must have sanctuary for my family also.’

‘Where are they?’

‘They are still in Berlin. Some friends of mine are arranging visas for Turkey.’