with Marlow, plant discreet kisses on Graves’s cheeks, and introduce himself. ‘Have they offered you tea? No? I’ll see to it.’
But he didn’t. He hastened instead to clear more mountains of books from two gilt armchairs, and made a little clearing around them so that Marlow and Graves could sit down. ‘I should have done this earlier – it’s not as if I didn’t know you were coming, after all …’ He pattered on, retrieving his own seat and facing them, elbows on the desk and fingers pointed together at the tips. ‘Have a good flight?’
They thanked him.
‘Good, good. Taxi OK? I’d have sent an official car for you, but we don’t like to draw attention to ourselves in this department,’ continued Detective-Major Cemil Haki. ‘But have no fear – the taxi was one of ours. And the driver. Did you guess?’
He laughed at their silence. ‘Orhan is one of our best couriers. He loves to play the cabbie. A little too authentically sometimes. But the safety of our guests is always paramount in his mind.’
‘That’s reassuring,’ said Graves.
‘And we keep our counsel. In all messages to the outside world from this department, in fact, we like to present ourselves as simple policemen. You’ll understand, won’t you? Trust is such a rare commodity that’s it’s always a shame to waste it.’ His tone turned briefly regretful.
Marlow was looking at a framed photograph on the wall behind the detective-major, between the two windows, and the one thing on the walls that hung straight as a die on its hook. It was maybe seventy years old, and showed a slim, thin-lipped, distinguished-looking man in an immaculate light-coloured suit, a cigarette in a holder dangling from elegant fingers.
The detective-major followed his gaze. ‘Recognize him?’ he asked.
Marlow shook his head. ‘But he looks familiar …’
‘It’s my great-great-grand-uncle, the famous Colonel – later General – Haki.’ The detective-major smiled. ‘I don’t take after him. Except perhaps in my line of work.’ He paused before going on. ‘He was involved with the British a couple of times at least – there was a famous business involving a gangster called Dimitrios at the end of the thirties, and in 1940 a British engineer called Graham got his fingers burned tangling with some German agents – the Germans always like to meddle in Turkey, you know; it was almost a kind of unofficial colony for them, and of course they hated the Russians, who were also trying to put their oar in …’ He trailed off, letting the faint suggestiveness in his tone hang in the air. ‘Asia Minor, the Cradle of Civilization, the Sick Man of Europe – all that kind of thing.’
‘I knew your name was familiar,’ said Marlow.
‘I thought you might know it.’
Haki became businesslike, sweeping the pile of ledgers away so brusquely that it collapsed – an event he ignored – and drawing the pencil-slim laptop to the centre of his desk. He flipped it open and busied himself with its keys and trackpad for a few moments.
He grunted in satisfaction then looked up, the glow of the screen giving his face a slightly sinister illumination. ‘We have found no trace of them yet,’ he said.
‘Have you got
anything
?’ asked Graves, ignoring a warning look from Marlow.
‘We would not have invited you into our inner sanctumfor nothing,’ replied Haki, his own voice remaining politely neutral.
‘Tell us what you know,’ said Marlow. ‘What were they after? We have to find them.’
10
‘As you know,’ the detective-major said, ‘our friends were investigating the burial place of the Venetian leader Enrico Dandolo.’ He gestured them to look at a picture he had summoned to the Mac’s screen. ‘This is his monument in the great basilica of Hagia Sofia, only a short bus ride east of where we are sitting. The building is almost as old as Christianity itself, and it was a church until we Muslims took over this city in 1453,
But he didn’t. He hastened instead to clear more mountains of books from two gilt armchairs, and made a little clearing around them so that Marlow and Graves could sit down. ‘I should have done this earlier – it’s not as if I didn’t know you were coming, after all …’ He pattered on, retrieving his own seat and facing them, elbows on the desk and fingers pointed together at the tips. ‘Have a good flight?’
They thanked him.
‘Good, good. Taxi OK? I’d have sent an official car for you, but we don’t like to draw attention to ourselves in this department,’ continued Detective-Major Cemil Haki. ‘But have no fear – the taxi was one of ours. And the driver. Did you guess?’
He laughed at their silence. ‘Orhan is one of our best couriers. He loves to play the cabbie. A little too authentically sometimes. But the safety of our guests is always paramount in his mind.’
‘That’s reassuring,’ said Graves.
‘And we keep our counsel. In all messages to the outside world from this department, in fact, we like to present ourselves as simple policemen. You’ll understand, won’t you? Trust is such a rare commodity that’s it’s always a shame to waste it.’ His tone turned briefly regretful.
Marlow was looking at a framed photograph on the wall behind the detective-major, between the two windows, and the one thing on the walls that hung straight as a die on its hook. It was maybe seventy years old, and showed a slim, thin-lipped, distinguished-looking man in an immaculate light-coloured suit, a cigarette in a holder dangling from elegant fingers.
The detective-major followed his gaze. ‘Recognize him?’ he asked.
Marlow shook his head. ‘But he looks familiar …’
‘It’s my great-great-grand-uncle, the famous Colonel – later General – Haki.’ The detective-major smiled. ‘I don’t take after him. Except perhaps in my line of work.’ He paused before going on. ‘He was involved with the British a couple of times at least – there was a famous business involving a gangster called Dimitrios at the end of the thirties, and in 1940 a British engineer called Graham got his fingers burned tangling with some German agents – the Germans always like to meddle in Turkey, you know; it was almost a kind of unofficial colony for them, and of course they hated the Russians, who were also trying to put their oar in …’ He trailed off, letting the faint suggestiveness in his tone hang in the air. ‘Asia Minor, the Cradle of Civilization, the Sick Man of Europe – all that kind of thing.’
‘I knew your name was familiar,’ said Marlow.
‘I thought you might know it.’
Haki became businesslike, sweeping the pile of ledgers away so brusquely that it collapsed – an event he ignored – and drawing the pencil-slim laptop to the centre of his desk. He flipped it open and busied himself with its keys and trackpad for a few moments.
He grunted in satisfaction then looked up, the glow of the screen giving his face a slightly sinister illumination. ‘We have found no trace of them yet,’ he said.
‘Have you got
anything
?’ asked Graves, ignoring a warning look from Marlow.
‘We would not have invited you into our inner sanctumfor nothing,’ replied Haki, his own voice remaining politely neutral.
‘Tell us what you know,’ said Marlow. ‘What were they after? We have to find them.’
10
‘As you know,’ the detective-major said, ‘our friends were investigating the burial place of the Venetian leader Enrico Dandolo.’ He gestured them to look at a picture he had summoned to the Mac’s screen. ‘This is his monument in the great basilica of Hagia Sofia, only a short bus ride east of where we are sitting. The building is almost as old as Christianity itself, and it was a church until we Muslims took over this city in 1453,
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