Читать книгу Deadline Istanbul (The Elizabeth Darcy Series) - Peggy Hanson - Страница 22

CHAPTER 18

The introduction, however, was immediately made; and as she named their relationship to herself, she stole a sly look at him to see how he bore it; and was not without the expectation of his decamping as fast as he could from such disgraceful companions.

Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

Bayram and I ate in one of those small, third-class restaurants that I would normally avoid in the developing world but embrace in Turkey, where food and cleanliness come next to godliness in the national creed. Crisp lamb döner kebab crackling with hot fat, sliced off the turning vertical spit onto warm, chewy pita bread…melted butter and tomato sauce, yogurt, and still more melted butter poured on…a nice little garnish of fresh broad-leaved parsley.… The smell of olive oil and lemon, of garlic sauted to the perfect “pinkness.” It was hard to turn my mind to business.

But I had a job to do—the only job as far as editors at the Trib knew.

“Who would you recommend as a contact on Turkish events?”

“Oh, you must go to Haldun Kutlu, famous columnist for Cümhüriyet newspaper. He always a good friend of Mr. Franklin’s. One of best sources, too. He can tell you where to look.”

We’d eaten our food with minimal talk, our mouths full. Now Bayram made a ceremony of bringing his coffee to his lips and sipping it, almost sultan-style. Could the little man have a secret life, like Walter Mitty?

After we returned to the office I checked the wires. No story needed to be filed that day, so I sent a computer message to Washington saying a general “hi” to the bunch, knocked off early and headed back to the Pera. Bayram said he’d stay to monitor breaking news.

In the taxi back across the Golden Horn I relaxed back and closed my eyes. Once, when traffic was stalled getting onto the bridge, I roused myself enough to look behind us. Cars lined up as far as the old limestone Roman aquaduct looming over the crowded street. A black taxi revved its engine. Through its windows the car behind it, a blue one, was just visible. I turned back around, sank into the seat again.

I would not be paranoid. The world, after all, is full of blue cars.