The mob of several thousand Turks stirred, occasionally pushing toward the marine line. Many in the mob held rifles. At the Galata end of the wide bridge, two belt-fed Browning machine guns waited to sweep death into the mob if the marines retreated.
"General Butler, a wog's coming."
Butler watched a Turk in a dark suit and fez walk slowly toward the marines. He held a white flag high over his head. "Efendim!"
Butler recognized the man as an advisor to the sultan and waved him through the marine line. "Halim Pasha, may I order a car for you?"
"No, Butler Efendi, I come with a letter for you, or General Pershing. From the sultan."
Smedley opened the letter, written in English on stationery carrying the curling Arabic script of the sultan's seaclass="underline"
Sir, Considering my life in danger in Istanbul, I take refuge with the American Government and request my transfer as soon as possible from Istanbul to another place.
Mehmet Vahideddin, Caliph of the Muslims
"That's the end of the Ottoman Empire, then," Butler said, remembering the warmth of Suleyman's blood, shed to save the dynasty. "Where is the sultan?"
"In the Topkapi. At the Baghdad Pavilion. His family is safely at the Dolmabahce. Will you come?"
"Give me a moment." Butler walked across the bridge to the forward communications post. "Get General Pershing."
"Yes, sir."
Sergeant Cooper saluted. "Little action coming, sir?"
"Oh, yes, Sergeant, of that I'm certain. I want twenty-five men ready to move out as soon as I talk to Pershing. Thompsons and Springfields."
"Sir, General Pershing on the line."
"General," Smedley spoke over the static of the jury-rigged landline, "the sultan has asked for refuge. He's trapped at the Topkapi. His family is at the Dolmabahce Palace."
"We've withdrawn south of the palace. I'll send a patrol boat for the sultan's people. Bring him out safely, General Butler. We will not abandon a man who was our friend."
Butler ordered a BAR mounted over the cab of a truck and had the side rails of the bed strengthened with planks. He directed Halim Pasha into the cab before crowding into the back of the truck with his men.
"Major Shaw, hold the bridge as long as you can, but if the crowd threatens to take your position, withdraw and sink this bridge as soon as the freighter exits the inner harbor."
Shaw saluted. "Good luck, sir."
Marines opened a gap in the barricade. Bouncing over the cobblestones and threatening to fling men from the bed at every jolt, the truck shot straight at the crowd. Several men pushed a wagon into the street, clearly hoping to block the Americans. Butler tapped the BAR gunner on the shoulder.
A burst from the BAR slammed into the wagon, scattering the men pushing it. The truck skidded around the wagon and tore along the waterfront toward Seraglio Point, quickly passing the red bricks of the Orient Express railroad station and bouncing across the tracks before angling inland and up the hill toward the palace.
The marines dropped to the ground and spread out. Leaving a squad to guard the trucks, Butler and Halim Pasha led the rest uphill through low hedges and scattered trees that offered little cover. Nearer the gray walls of the Topkapi the trees spread a wide canopy overhead. Two guards in Turkish army uniforms held a post at the stone wall of the ancient palace.
Halim Pasha called in Turkish, and the guards answered, lowering their Mausers and stepping aside. "These men are loyal to the sultan. They say Nationalist troops have occupied the second court of the palace and have started moving into the third court. The sultan's men hold the fourth, just inside this gate."
"Will they fight beside us?" Butler asked.
"The Kemalists are guarding the palace, not looting it," Halim answered. "The sultan has ordered his men to not fire. Turks will not fight Turks today."
Leaving several marines at the gate, Butler led his men through the gate into the palace grounds. The marines spread to the right, slipping off the path through a garden thick with trees and bushes. Ahead, Smedley saw a large, octagonal building. Gray-and-cream marble formed wide arches on the ground floor supporting a main floor with high, arched windows whose white frames held stained glass mosaics. The main floor blended with a terrace running for ten or fifteen yards to a smaller version of the large kiosk and on to the main buildings of the palace.
"The Baghdad Kiosk," Halim said, "built after Murad IV captured that city. The smaller is the Revan…"
Butler ignored Halim's nervous chatter. The garden opened to his right. A dozen Turkish soldiers sat around a dry fountain smoking and talking, Mausers resting against the center pedestal. A smaller group stood, rifles ready, glancing toward the closed windows of two-story buildings forming a wall at the front of the garden. A soldier shouted, and rifles snapped toward the Marines. Butler's finger tightened on the trigger of his Thompson.
"Hayir! Hayir! No!" Halim shouted. He spoke rapidly in Turkish, and the soldiers slowly lowered their rifles.
"Tell them to set down their rifles. Now."
Responding to Halim's shouts, and the steady muzzles of the submachine guns, the Turks set their rifles carefully on the grass.
"Down, flat on the ground, hands behind their backs." The Turks followed Halim's orders. Marines hauled the Mausers back to the trees.
"Sergeant Cooper, hold here in the trees. Thompsons cover the wogs by the fountain. Springfields cover those windows. Anybody see a head pop out, put a round into the wall about a foot away from them. If they fire back, kill the bastards."
Halim turned at a question called from the balcony. He answered a tall Turkish officer, and said to Butler, "The commander of the guard. Come."
Halim led the marines across the garden to a door in the base of the Baghdad Kiosk, and quickly upstairs to the main level. Moving into the central room, the marines stared in wonder at the intricate inlays of ivory, tortoise shell, and mother of pearl on the window frames and doors and at the blue and gray tiles forming mosaics of flowering vines and geometric patterns.
Butler gestured, and marines dashed to the far doors, ready to duck through on command. Halim moved ahead of Butler, saying over his shoulder, "The sultan is here."
Smedley cursed under his breath and followed, Thompson ready.
Halim paused, one hand on a marble railing. Twenty yards away, a small platform jutted out from the terrace, shaded by a rectangular bronze baldachin set high on four bronze pillars. A slight man wearing a dark European-style uniform stood looking across the city to the Mosque of Suleyman and the Golden Horn.
Halim approached, bowing and talking in Turkish. Mehmet VI turned slowly, and spoke to Butler as Halim translated. "I came to see my city for the final time. Dolmabahce is beautiful, but I could not feel the past from that modern place." He stepped down to the terrace, and turned again to look over the city, speaking in a voice Butler could scarcely hear as Halim translated:
"The spider is the curtain-holder in the Palace of the Caesars."
The sultan walked toward the Revan Kiosk, saying, "Mehmet the Conqueror recited that poem while standing in the ruins of a Roman palace that sat here. Now, it applies to us."
Butler paused to study the Golden Horn. The Upper Bridge had just closed behind the American freighter as the Galata Bridge opened to free the ship. A ball of flame erupted from several of the pontoons supporting the Upper Bridge, which slowly settled into the water. The mob looked like a black amoeba swarming around the marine line at the Stamboul end of the Galata Bridge. Butler knew he was nearly out of time.