Nick couldn't have agreed more.
Chapter 4
A Place of Skulls
Nick was feeling the beginnings of exhaustion when he pulled Mousy and the suitcase onto a low stone jetty. Shallow stairs, worn and grooved by centuries, led up to a narrow bricked street where a crowd was beginning to form.
Nick grabbed the little man by the elbow and hustled him up the stairs. "We've got to get the hell out of here before the cops show. Where's the car?"
"Couple of streets over. In an alley. A black Opel. It's my own, not an AXE job."
"It's a car," Nick said grimly. "That's all I care about at the moment. This quay is going to be swarming with polls any minute."
"Inshallah," said Mousy. "Allah willing."
Nick pushed his way through a little knot of silent, staring people. After they had passed the spate of excited chatter began. Turkish, new and old, Greek, Armenian, French! When the cops did arrive they were going to hear some wild stories. And the harbor patrol — they would be going crazy!
Three minutes later, with Mousy still gasping like a fish in the back seat, Nick wheeled a long black Opel sedan along a narrow, cobbled incline toward a corner. One of the large traffic mirrors the Turks use showed nothing approaching from either side. But he had, only a second before, heard a siren somewhere behind.
"Nereden donecegim?" he asked Mousy in Turkish. "This is a dead end."
"Kuzeye," said Mousy. "Left — north for us. Your Turkish is still pretty good, N3."
Nick nodded. "I had a refresher." He swung the big car around the narrow corner to the left. "Where's the station?"
"It ain't the Hilton," the little man said. "We're in the old part of town — Stamboul. You'll hit Ataturk Boulevard just up here a way. Stay on it until you come to Millet Caddesi. Then we run on that nearly out to the old wall. It's a lousy part of town, believe me!"
"I do. I seem to remember someone trying to kill me around there one night."
Nick Carter's trained mind asked the next question almost without aid from his vocal organs. Perhaps it was only a small thing, but it was attention to the small things that kept you alive in this profession. A brand of cigarettes, the way a man's ears looked from behind, a nervous habit of some kind.
"If we're in Stamboul how come you people picked me up on the starboard instead of port? It would have been closer. This way we have to cross a bridge, for God's sake! That could be dangerous — bridges get jammed and they're easy to close!" He meant Morgan to hear the soft, yet steely, reprimand in his voice. N3 forgave no one mistakes — least of all himself!
"The truth is that I've had a little chicken in my blood these last few weeks, Nick. Especially since the last Narcotics man was killed — I don't mean Todhunter! That makes five now! And I've been here all alone! Hawk kept telling me he was sending someone, but he wouldn't say when or who! That must have been a very special briefing you had."
"It was," Nick said softly, remembering the man in the bedroom. "Go on, Mousy. You were getting nervous in the service so who doesn't sometimes?"
"I didn't just get nervous — I got real chicken. And I've had a funny feeling, too, of late! That maybe I've had it in this racket! That maybe I had better collect my chips and get out while I still could."
This time Nick's glance was sharp. He'd heard that tone before! Sensed the mood of defeatism and apprehension in an agent. It was not a good thing to see. And it was highly dangerous. When an agent was like that he made mistakes — usually fatal mistakes. He would have to see about Mousy at once — he couldn't afford to work with a man who thought his number might be up.
Meantime Mousy was saying: "Anyway I pulled out of the regular station in Pera and came over to Stamboul, to the alternate. I couldn't bring everything, of course, but I brought the basic stuff and the files we'll need. After what happened tonight I'm glad I did. I'm sure this new one is a safe hole, at least for a time. Todhunter didn't even know about it. I didn't want him to! I've had a funny feeling about Todhunter too, of late — not that I didn't trust him or anything like that! He had top clearance. And anyway I knew he was on the level — it was just that I had the idea that he might be getting a little careless!"
Nick slowed for a light. He said nothing, just watched the other man's face in the mirror. This time Mousy Morgan did not meet his eye.
Muezzins were calling the faithful to prayer now, their wailing voices promising salvation over amplifiers. Most of the neon lights had flickered out. Traffic had thickened, a scurrying cluster of trams and dolmus cabs, donkeys and small cars. Queues were already forming for trams and buses.
The light changed. Nick eased into traffic again. Behind him Mousy Morgan said: "Another reason we had to come the hard way is that you can't steal any boats on this side of the Horn. You got to go to the fishermen for that."
Nick nodded. "Another reason is that Todhunter didn't know about this hole and you didn't want him to — you said that before. So we come the long way and drop him off someplace, then we loaf and see what happens. If he, or anyone, tries to follow us." Nick chuckled a little grimly. "So? You've been staring back out of that window for ten minutes now — anyone on our tail?"
"No," said Mousy. "I think it's okay." Nick could hear the relief in his voice. He felt a brief flash of pity for the little guy, then brushed it away. Pity didn't go in this business. He would have to watch Mousy like a hawk from now on.
A watery sun was shining now on the golden roofs of old Byzantium. Constantinople — Stamboul, whatever you called it, was a lovely and a dangerous town. The city was a beautiful woman you could never trust. This bothered N3 not at all. He never trusted a woman anyway. Or anyone else, for that matter. With the exception of Hawk. And he must call Hawk, soon, must report in. Mission Pilgrim had gotten off to a bad start!
Over his shoulder Nick said, "How much farther to this cave? It's getting too light for comfort — and it would be hard to explain a couple of bums like us driving a car like this. We've got to go to ground fast. Have a council of war. There are a hell of a lot of questions I want answered before tonight and — Mousy?"
"Yes, N3?"
"You know of course that I'm taking command? I'm Chief of Station as of now?"
The little agent's laugh was shrill with relief. "Know it? Brother, I've been praying for it!"
Nick grinned at him in the mirror. "Okay. Now try to relax. Keep those jitters under control, huh? As soon as I get things under control I'll see about getting a replacement for you."
Mousy Morgan smiled back at the big hard man he half worshiped and sometimes feared and knew he would never understand. "Hell, Nick, I'll be all right. Just a case of the shakes, I guess — seeing poor Tod get it that way! Hey — you turn of! just up here. Take the Vatan Road to the right until you see the Mihriman Mosque — and that's us. We're very close to the mosque. Sometimes I think we must be right under the damned thing!"
The ancient double wall that runs like a crescent moon from the Sea of Marmara to the Golden Horn was just ahead when Nick wheeled the Opel into a rutted muddy alley that ran between rows of wooden shacks. The alley stank in every sense of the word. It was rilled with every sort of rubbish and offal, human included. Flies swarmed. Cats prowled.
"Straight ahead now. Through the morgue — and I hope you can stand the smell. It's a pauper's morgue. They bring 'em here until they can be buried."
Nick glanced only cursorily at the half dozen nude bodies, male and female, which lay on a long table beneath trickling streams of water. He noticed that Mousy hurried past the table without glancing at it. Yes, Nick thought, the poor little bastard has really got the wind up! I'll have to get on to Hawk about him as soon as I can.