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

was the right thing to do, obviously, but it would have taken too much time to get all the necessary permissions. And I hated bureaucracy, even back then. So we just did it.”

“What if you had gotten caught?”

“We would have been court-martialed probably. Or maybe not. It was a different time.”

“When did you stop using the funny money?”

“Not until 1948, after the CIA was created,” said Stone. “They sent out a lawyer and made us sign a lot of paperwork. That should have been a warning, I suppose.”

Taylor poured another drink for Stone and for himself. Patches of fog were gathering over the water and then dissipating, so that the shoreline came in and out of view every few seconds.

“So what do you do now?” asked Taylor.

“Ah. What do I do now?”

“Yeah. If you don’t mind my asking.”

“What have you heard on the rumor mill?”

“Not much. One version had it that you got canned.”

“Not true, obviously.”

“Another version says you’re doing something very strange and secretive somewhere in the DDO.”

“That is closer to the truth.”

“Mr. Stone, do me a favor. Either give me a straight answer or tell me to fuck off.”

Stone laughed. “I am attached to the Soviet Bloc Division. My title is Director of Special Projects.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means absolutely nothing. I report to the deputy director for operations, and with his blessing, I have access to cable traffic in areas that interest me. It makes me a sort of free-lance troublemaker.”

“What trouble are you planning to make in Istanbul?”

“I’m not sure yet,” said Stone. “I’d like to think about it overnight. Do you have anything planned for tomorrow morning?”

“Nothing that can’t wait.”

“Let’s get together then and discuss it, shall we?”

“Yes, sir,” said Taylor. Which was unusual, because Taylor never called anybody “sir.”

They heard the sound of the horn again, much closer. Ali Kaptan revved the engine and steered the boat toward a cove on the Asian side. “Russian!” he shouted over the sound of the motor. Taylor and Stone looked up the Bosporus and saw a stunning sight. A Soviet cruiser was making her way down the straits from the Black Sea, flags flying, crew on deck. A small white boat from Turkish military intelligence was accompanying her, snapping pictures and taking measurements.

In the half-light, from the vantage of little Teodora, the Soviet ship looked even bigger and more menacing than normal. It was an immense and awesome machine—every cleat and turret ready for battle, every inch of space devoted in some way to the modern Soviet ambition of challenging the United States. The horn sounded again, deafening this time, as the cruiser made its way past them toward the Mediterranean. In the wake of this giant vessel, the Teodora and its passengers bobbed like a cork.

20

They met at the consulate the next morning at eight, which was the earliest Taylor had ever been seen at work. Stone was waiting in the main salon of the Palazzo Corpi, which was known as the “Missouri Room” to commemorate a visit to Turkey in 1946 by the battleship USS Missouri. Stalin had been threatening Turkey at the time, and it was said that when the great ship steamed into port, its massive guns pointing toward Odessa, the Turks had broken into cheers. Another age entirely.

Stone, himself a sort of monument to that lost age, was sitting on a couch reading a book about Byzantine architecture that he had pulled off a dusty bookshelf. He looked older and frailer in the morning light. He was so engrossed in the book that he didn’t notice Taylor at first. The younger man led him upstairs, past the wrought-iron satyrs and nymphs that decorated the stairway, to the gray stucco of the communications room, and from there into the bland translucent whiteness of the secure conference room. Waiting on the table was a pot of coffee and a plate of sweet rolls wrapped in cellophane.

“Are you married?” asked Stone as he unwrapped his pastry.

“No,” said Taylor. “Not anymore.”

Stone nodded. That apparently was the answer he had hoped for. “And do you like your present assignment here in Istanbul?”

“I’m not wild about it. I like it when it’s interesting.”

“And how often is that?”

“Not very often.”

Stone nodded again. “I take it from what you say that you would be interested in something more challenging.”

“You bet.”

“Hmmm. And do you have a competent deputy who can manage the administrative details in your absence?”

“I think so. He likes that sort of thing. Paperwork, renting safe houses.”

“Are you as restless as you seem?”

Taylor turned his eyes to the blank white wall of the bubble and thought of the useless secrets it normally contained. He thought of how he had been spending his days and weeks of late, planting bugs and meeting with agents like EXCHASE. “Yes, I’m as restless as I seem. Maybe more so.”

That, too, seemed to be the correct answer, for Stone turned toward Taylor and looked him in the eye. “I’m sorry to ask you these questions. But I don’t want to discuss this Rawls business with you unless I’m fairly sure that you would be an appropriate person to pursue it with me. I take it that you would be interested.”

Taylor made a mental inventory. He had a reasonably solid career that was leading up the ladder. But it was becoming increasingly obvious to him that it was a ladder to nowhere.

“Sure,” he said. “Why not.”

“Then I think you’re my man.”

“For what?”

“For the operation I have in mind. I’ve been doing some thinking overnight, and the more I think about your Mr. Rawls, the more convinced I am that we have been presented with an unusual opportunity. An almost irresistible opportunity, I would say.”

“To do what?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it? To do what? Now what do you think we should do with Mr. Rawls?”

“You’re asking the wrong man. Until last night, I thought he was working for you.”

“Come now. Surely you have a suggestion.”

Taylor thought a moment.