The Istanbul Puzzle by Laurence O’Bryan Page A

hollow, as if I’d retched, even though I hadn’t.
    ‘Are you into antiquities, Mr Ryan? This place is awash with them. Maybe you have something those guys want, something of value.’ There was a suspicious edge to her voice.
    ‘You’re on the wrong track.’ Her insistence that all this was something to do with me was pissing me off.
    ‘We don’t deal in or smuggle antiquities at the Institute. I have nothing those guys could want.’ I made a show of patting my body.
    My fingers touched the USB storage device in my trouser pocket. For a moment I considered not mentioning it, but I decided to take it out, to show her how little I’d picked up in the few hours I’d been here.
    I pulled out the storage device, waved it dismissively in the air.
    ‘This is the only thing I’ve been given since I came here. It was in an envelope with some photos for Alek at the hotel. I don’t think they’d try to kill us for this.’
    She reached for the USB key. ‘We’ll be the judge of that.’
    I swung it away. ‘This is the property of my Institute.’ I hadn’t even looked at what was on it.
    ‘Give it to me, Mr Ryan.’ We were travelling through an obviously poorer district now. The houses crowded in on each side.
    ‘Or perhaps I should drop you here, if you’re going to be so uncooperative.’ She stopped at a corner, as if she meant to let me out.
    ‘I could outrun them better, without you holding me back,’ I said.
    ‘But their aim might improve.’
    ‘Tell me a good reason I should give it to you.’
    She let out an exasperated sigh. ‘Look, beheadings are long out of fashion in Turkey. If they’ve started up again, there has to be something serious going down. We need to follow up anything that could help us find out why Alek was murdered, and who did it. That requires you to give me your full cooperation. Now please, can I have it?’ She held out her hand.
    ‘OK,’ I said. ‘But I want a copy of whatever’s on it. Agreed?’
    She hesitated, then nodded.
    I handed over the device.

Chapter 11
    Arap Anach stood on the balcony of his suite. In front of him the lights of the buildings crowding around the Golden Horn were cobwebs of diamonds.
    The hem of his midnight-blue silk robe wafted in the breeze. There was an angry shout. He looked down beyond the black ironwork balcony. Istanbul in early August was a hot and airless city at ground level. Only those with expensive apartments or hotel suites high up felt the cooling breezes that glided over the rooftops.
    Far below, in the thin light of a street lamp, a beggar jerked in the dust. People were gathering. Someone shouted. Malach watched, as if observing the death of an ant.
    The sliding door behind him opened with a swish. He turned. Malach came through, bowed and spoke in a quiet voice.
    ‘They failed,’ he said. ‘The car he escaped in had CD plates. It’s registered to the British Consulate. We got photos from his room, and an iPad too.’ He handed the photos to Arap.
    ‘Don’t turn the iPad on,’ said Arap. He held the photos up. ‘You didn’t get his phone?’
    ‘No. But we know his name. He came from England yesterday.’
    ‘Look for him, but discreetly. And finish the clean up. I want no traces for anyone to find.’
    Malach nodded, turned, went back out through the door, closed it with a click behind him.
    Arap ran his hands along the balcony, caressing it. Then he gripped it, hard.
    Copies of the pictures that Greek boy had taken could be in the hands of the British already. It wouldn’t be easy for them to work out where they had been taken, but it wouldn’t be impossible either.
    But would they understand the significance of what they’d found, bother to follow it up? Maybe. They weren’t stupid. All these loose ends would have to be sorted out quickly.
    Five years of planning could not be wasted. It had taken too long to get to this point. Everything was almost ready.
    He remembered the day he’d started down this road. The