Siro by David Ignatius (short books to read txt) 📕

when the young agent arrived at the safe house. He was only fifteen minutes late, but Taylor chided him anyway. Agents were never supposed to be late.

“I’m frightened,” said the Turk.

“Why?”

“It is getting very dangerous at the university.”

“For who?”

“For everyone. My students are afraid even to go buy a newspaper. In some neighborhoods, I myself am afraid to buy a newspaper.”

“What for?” asked Taylor. He wondered whether perhaps EXCHASE was losing his nerve.

“Because if I buy the wrong newspaper in the wrong place, there may be trouble. If I ask for the leftist paper Cumhuriyet in a rightist area, and a rightist sees me, he may attack me. So at the newsstand I just nod at the paper I want, and when the man gives it to me, I fold it up so that no one will see it. Better to play it safe.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

Bulent looked hurt. “It happened just last week,” he said solemnly, “near the campus in Bayezit. A rightist was buying a copy of Tercuman, and a leftist saw him and shot him.”

“Shot him?”

“Of course. At the university, everyone has a gun now. Except the women.”

“So I gather.”

“Excuse me, I am wrong. Among the Maoists, the women also have guns. But they are strange women. They are short and ugly, and they have sex with other Maoists. We have a saying at the university: The further left you go, the uglier the women are—and the easier to get in bed.”

“We had the same saying where I went to school,” said Taylor.

Bulent didn’t crack a smile. He was a very serious young man.

“What about the guns?” pressed Taylor. “I know I’ve asked you this before, but it’s important. Where do they come from?”

“Bulgaria,” declared Bulent. He had gathered from previous conversations on this subject that that was the right answer.

“How do you know? Have you collected serial numbers on the guns, the way I asked you to at our last meeting?”

Bulent shook his head.

“Why not?”

“It was not possible.”

“Why not, goddammit?”

Bulent looked stricken. On his lower lip was the beginning of a tremor. “Because it is too dangerous for me,” he said quietly.

“That’s part of the deal.”

“I know. But if I look too hard for the guns, the others will know that I am a spy, and they will kill me.”

“And you’re frightened.”

“Yes. I am frightened. I am sorry.”

Taylor felt sorry for the Turk. He was pathetic. “Chin up,” he said, patting the Turk on the shoulder.

“Okay, okay,” said Bulent.

Taylor changed the subject. The hell with Bulgarian guns. “What’s new with your leftist friends at the university?”

“Ahhh!” said Bulent, pleased that at last he had some useful information to impart. “I have a big report for you. There is a new split between the Dev-Yol and the Dev-Sol.”

“Remind me which is which.”

“Of course. The Dev-Yol believes that the revolution will begin in the countryside and then spread to the cities. The Dev-Sol believes the revolution will begin in the city and spread to the country. Now they are very angry and shooting at each other.”

“What are the police doing about it?”

“Which? The Pol-Bir or the Pol-Der?”

“Give me a break, Bulent.”

“The Pol-Bir is the rightist faction of the police. The Pol-Der is the leftist faction.”

“Right. So what are they doing about the problem?”

“Neither of them is doing anything about the problem?”

“Neither of them is doing anything about the Dev-Yol or the Dev-Sol. They both think the CIA is running things.” He looked at Taylor expectantly. Even a well-educated person like Bulent still harbored the fantasy of American omnipotence, despite the obvious evidence to the contrary. Taylor didn’t want to disappoint him.

“Shhh!” he said. He gave Bulent a wink. Bulent nodded. The thought of this powerful, faraway America—which had deigned to take him up in its hands—seemed to be all that kept him going. Taylor looked at his watch.

“One more question and then I’ll give you your money,” said Taylor. “What’s the word on campus about Iran? Is anyone joining the Islamic Students Association?”

“A few people,” said Bulent. “Mostly they are poor boys from the country and ugly girls. Do not worry about them. They are losers.”

“How much money is the Islamic Students Association giving to its members?”

“Some. Less than the leftists give out. About the same as the rightists.”

“Where does the money come from?”

“Iran,” said Bulent. It was probably true, but he was just guessing. What a waste of time, thought Taylor. He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew an envelope.

“Here’s your stipend,” said Taylor, handing the envelope to the Turk. Inside was eighty dollars.

“Thank you,” said the Turk. He looked absurdly grateful, given the meager amount that the agency was paying him. Meanness was good tradecraft, Taylor had long ago learned. The rule was never to pay someone so much that his new affluence might make him conspicuous. That was part of why spying was such a rotten business. You couldn’t even make real money selling secrets.

The next day was Taylor’s regular liaison meeting with Serif Osman of the Turkish intelligence service. The Turk looked haggard. The usual assured and dignified manner of the Byzantine spymaster was gone. Instead, he had the frazzled appearance of a Third World cop surrounded by a population he couldn’t control. Even his goatee, usually precisely cut and combed, looked unkempt.

“What’s wrong?” asked Taylor.

“The eastern provinces,” said the Turk. That was a kind of code. It meant “Kurds,” a word Turkish security men preferred not to speak out loud.

“What’s happening in the eastern provinces?”

“Foreign elements are creating disorder.” That, too, was a kind of code, a reference to the Soviet Union. It was an article of faith in the Turkish security service that Moscow was supporting the Kurdish rebels in an effort to destroy the Turkish nation.

“Anything in particular?”

“Another funeral. It was exploited by leftist agitators. The army was forced to respond.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Crack down, of course.”

Serif walked to the window of his office. It looked out over Yildiz Park, where Sultan Abdul-Hamid had hidden for several decades in