Istanbul Passage by Joseph Kanon Page A

the Russians. Let’s talk about him.”
    Alexei stared at him.
    “I need to know.”
    Alexei held his gaze, sipping some tea, calculating, as if he were running his finger over a chess piece, not yet ready to move.
    “How long have you been doing this?” he said finally. “This work. Maybe you’re new to it. Maybe that’s it. So let me explain something to you. If I knew such a thing, would I tell you? We talk in Bucharest—enough information so you know it’s real. The rest? When I’m out, safe. If I tell you here? You squeeze a lemon, what’s left? So you throw it away.”
    “We don’t do that.”
    “Everybody does that,” he said flatly. “Everybody. So you can wait.”
    “Not anymore. I need to know. For your sake. If he had anyone else here.”
    “Here? An American here?” Alexei said, a little surprised, relieved. “Well, you wouldn’t have to wait for that. It’s not such a bargaining chip.” He stopped. “I mean—”
    Leon looked at him, turning this over. “Not worth a trip to the States. But someone in Washington would be.”
    Alexei met his glance. “Yes, he would be. But we’re here. Wasting time. These questions. I don’t know anyone here.” He sipped more tea. “You’re so sure there is such a person.”
    Leon nodded.
    “How?”
    “I shot him last night. On the pier.”
    At first there was only a flicker of movement in Alexei’s face, the composure still fixed, then his eyes began darting, as if they were involuntarily following his thoughts, leaping from point to point.
    “They identified the man,” he said, leading. “Not a Russian.”
    “No. One of us. Who knew you were coming out. And who tried to kill you. Why would he do that? In the open? Take that chance. Unless you were someone he had to stop. He couldn’t give you back to the Russians—he’d expose himself—so he’d have to kill you.”
    “Expose himself?”
    “He was running this operation, getting you out. Which makes for some complications.”
    “Running—”
    “This piece of it anyway. So the trip had to end here. Things go wrong, but he’s safe, no one blames him, and the Russians get their rat. But then I shot him and I got you instead. So I need you to tell me. Are there others? Am I wrong?”
    Alexei put the tips of his fingers together in a pyramid, pressing them against his lips, almost prayerlike, thinking. “No,” he said finally, then hesitated, as if he were eliminating more possibilities. “They had a man in Ankara. Why not here.”
    “Ankara,” Leon said dully, seeing himself at Karpić’s, leaving an envelope on the banquette.
    “During the war. Now I’m not sure. You understand, it’s only GPU I know, not the other agencies. But you see what this means. The Russians know. The whole operation. We have to leave this place. It’s not safe.”
    “He never knew about the flat. So they don’t know, either. We’re back where we started.”
    “No. Everything is compromised now. The plane—that’s still your plan?”
    “I don’t see why not—if there is one.”
    But Alexei was shaking his head. “They must know. If I show myself there they’ll kill me. We have to start over. Everything. I’ll help you. We’ll work together.”
    Leon looked up, caught off guard. His new partner.
    Alexei started coughing, a smoker’s hack. “Amateurs. It’s my life, and the man in charge is working for them.”
    “Was.”
    “And now it’s you,” Alexei said, peering at him. “The new gazi . And who else?”
    Leon shook his head. “I only knew Tommy.”
    “So,” Alexei said. “And you had no idea. What he was.”
    “Not until he shot you.”
    “Not even me. The Romanian. Amateurs.” He started coughing again, his face getting paler. “Istanbul,” he said, choking on the word, still trying to stop the cough. “Maybe it ends here. I always wondered, what would that be like. When they finally get you.” He looked up. “So. We make a new plan.”
    “We,” Leon said.
    “You