Istanbul Passage by Joseph Kanon

it differently. Maybe better.” He leaned his head to the side, still amused. “Yes, I think so.”
    “That’s because you don’t know what I’m after.”
    Alexei looked straight at him, no smile now at all. “No. So it’s an advantage you have. What do you want to know?”
    Leon hesitated, trying to frame it. “How it was, at Străuleşti.”
    A stillness, Alexei’s eyes locked on Leon’s, not blinking. After a minute he looked down at his hand, the cigarette burning to his finger. He rubbed it out, still quiet, a test of wills, his eyes neutral, sorting things out.
    “We do that too,” he said finally. “Tell them you know the worst thing. So they think you know everything.”
    Leon waited.
    “Nobody asked me this before. Your people. So why now?”
    “You were there.”
    Another silence, calculating. “Your Romanian friend. He told you.”
    Now it was Leon who was quiet.
    “When did a Romanian not betray a Romanian? A national gift.” He reached for another cigarette. “Well, I’m one to talk.” He waited another second, then shook his head. “I had no part in that.”
    “Just the rest of the Guard.”
    He nodded. “That’s when I decided—”
    “What?”
    “That they were crazy.”
    “They weren’t crazy before? Blood oaths?”
    “But this. It was bound to call attention. Make them turn against us.”
    “So you did.”
    “That’s what you want to know? Why I turned against the Guard? That’s easy. Because I could see what was coming. The future was Antonescu.”
    “For a while.”
    “Yes.”
    “And now he’s going on trial. But not you.”
    “Trial for what?”
    “You were there. That would be enough.”
    Alexei nodded. “They’re not so interested now, what happened. They just want to shoot us. Then all these things can go away.”
    “So you made a deal.”
    “That’s right,” Alexei said, eyes on Leon. “With you.” He got up, clearing his cup. “You know what it’s like, a mob? Like water. You can’t stop it. They were going to ruin everything and who could stop them?”
    “Not you.” Leon paused. “You knew what they were going to do.”
    “No,” Alexei said, raising his voice. “Shoot them maybe. This was already happening. Dudeşti, all over the city. But this—” He stopped, his shoulders suddenly slumping. “Of course, you know in the end they were dead anyway.”
    He shuffled over to the window and stood there for a minute, lifting his hand to part the shade, then letting it rest there, staring.
    “When you have blood on your hands, does it matter how it got there?” he said.
    Carcasses dripping.
    He turned. “Is that what you’re asking? What’s on my hands?” He held one out. “Not so clean. Are yours? In this business?” He lowered his hand. “Do you know how easy it can be? Something you never thought you could do. Easy. Later, it’s harder. People forget, but you live with it, whatever you did.” He turned. “We penetratedtheir military intelligence. That’s all that should matter to you now. You want to put me on trial with Antonescu? For what? The Guard? The camps? All of it my fault. Maybe even the war. My fault too.” He stopped. “Nobody cares about that anymore. Not them, not you. It’s in the past.” He looked up. “Except your Romanian friend maybe. So eager to tell you things. Maybe he’d like to tell someone else. A Romanian will sell anything. Maybe me.”
    Leon looked at him, intrigued. A life revealed in a phrase.
    “He can’t. He doesn’t know where you are.”
    “Only you. If you weren’t followed,” he said, dismissive. “And what do we talk about? All these arrangements—the truck from Bucharest, the boat, this place—and now it’s what happened to the Jews? They died.” His voice final as a window being slammed shut.
    He went to get more tea, refilling Leon’s glass, Leon watching him, not saying anything. Alexei raised his eyebrows, waiting.
    “All right,” Leon said. “The American working for