He walked over and gave me a shove toward the door. "Good night and, I hope, good-bye."
As I stole out of the bank, I knew my problem was threefold:
A. Get out of Turkey.
B. Not get caught.
C. Cover up my trail.
In terms of pure theory, it seemed elementary. In fact, the Apparatus continually pounded (B) and (C) into one. They were the basis of practically every operating plan.
But theory is one thing and being in the middle of the night in Istanbul, Earth, surrounded by skulking enemies and pursued relentlessly by pitiless women who had noses like bloodhounds, was something else.
The minarets of a thousand mosques stood around me with pointing fingers. The very clouds were liable to open and drown the world with the voice of the Prophet hollowly commanding that the words in his Qur'an be followed: STONE THE ADULTERER TO DEATH!
Spooky. You can never tell about these primitive religions. They might come true suddenly. The very towers of the mosques might cave in on me to do just that.
I kept my wits. I had to. Nobody else would want them. Gods, how I had been taken in by those women!
Looking up and down the street, I saw that Mudur must have miscalculated. He would want me under obligation on a note before he called the police. I would outwit him!
Running like a hare, clutching my bag to my chest, I got the blazes out of that district.
I ducked and dodged down numerous alleyways and streets. No pursuit yet. As I ran, I laid my careful plans to escape and cover my tracks.
Ahead I saw a small and mean hotel. I slowed to a sauntering gait. I had a cunning plan for the first stage. Police, when they want to trap a criminal they expect to be in a hotel, surround it. They would think I was inside when I was outside, and I would be able to detect them.
I went in. The clerk, if you could call him that, was sound asleep. I woke him up and told him I wanted a room. Without opening his eyes, he reached up, got a key and handed it to me.
Stealthily, I went up some stairs. I found the room. I went in and hid my bag. There was a drain pipe. I slid down it.
Through an alley I made my way up the hill to some always-open stalls around the Great Bazaar. There were no throngs at such an hour. Many shops were closed. But I soon found what I wanted: an Arab and Oriental clothing shop. The place smelled suffocatingly of mothballs and camels. A single electric bulb shone down on racks of tangled merchandise. I pawed through them. I was looking for a djellaba, a hooded cloak. I wanted the kind that Arab chieftains wear. I found one. It was of soft, yellow wool. A bit ornate, since it had a border of embroidered gold thread, but it would have to do. I found a turban. I found some baggy pants. I found a gold-embroidered waistcoat and a shirt. I found a bandolier with lots of pouches.
The proprietor, suspecting thieves, woke up. He was very fat and yawning. He looked at me strangely. He began to add up the items I had selected. He yawned. "Eighteen thousand lira," he said.
"Nine thousand lira," I said.
Then he did something very suspicious. He shrugged and nodded! He did not try to bargain! I knew what that meant. He was hoping to lull my natural alarm.
I got out a bill. My Gods! Mudur Zengin had only given me thousand-dollar bills!
I had no choice. I had to give it to him.
"I'll have to wake up Muchmud the moneylender next door to get the change," he said. My suspicions were confirmed! He was trying to detain me!
I was very cool, however. "Go ahead," I said.
He was gone for over five minutes! I knew he had called the police. He said, "Here is your change. Ninety-one thousand lira." It was an awful wad. It contained small bills. He thought I would delay long enough to count it. I would fool him. I didn't. I shoved it in the bundle.
He looked at me strangely. Then it hit me what this was really all about. He was making sure he would have my full description. He knew what clothes I had bought. He would tell the women what they were when they came to question him.
I was up to it. I executed Item (C). I would cover my trail.
While he was lying down again on his couch, I pretended to have trouble tying up my bundle. I bent over and slid a time bomb underneath a clothing rack. I pushed the plunger.
I walked out.
I went down the hill. I did not run.
Ten minutes went by.
KERUMPH! BLOWIE!
The shop and a lot of others around it flew into the sky in a pyre of orange flame. The concussion broke a window near me.
That part of the trail was covered. The women would never get my description out of him!
I felt reassured. But I remained very watchful. I approached the hotel. There were no police around it. My trap had not been sprung. Probably they were merely late. I had better be quick.
I scaled the drain pipe. It was only four feet long. I got back into the room.
Way off up the hill I could hear police and ambulance sirens going. A good diversion. Maybe that was why they had not come to the hotel. Clever of me.
I opened my suitcase. I took off my Western clothes. I got into the balloon pants and shirt and vest. I put the bandolier over my shoulder. I put my military boots back on. I tied the turban and got into the djellaba. Quite a change!
I transferred the remaining bombs and U. S. money to the pouches of the bandolier. I got my diplomatic passport and put that in a pouch. I stuffed the wads of Turkish money into my waistband: it was far too lumpy for the bandolier containers.
I repacked the suitcase with the clothes I had taken off. Then, with sudden decision, I took out a Beretta Model 81/84.380 caliber. It was a lightweight pocket size and it held thirteen rounds in its magazine. I put it in the inside pocket of the djellaba. I looked around. I had left nothing in the room. I strapped my grip back up.
Now I would cover my trail.
I took a time bomb, put it under the mattress and pushed the plunger.
I went downstairs. The clerk did not fool me. He was pretending to be asleep. I would look very ordinary: I laid the key and a hundred-lira note on the desk. I sauntered out.
There were no police around. My distraction in the Great Bazaar had worked. Flames were really shooting up over there.
Not attracting attention to myself, I walked at normal pace through alleys in the direction of a thoroughfare.
I found a cab. I woke the driver up and got in. I would red-herring my trail. I said loudly, "Take me to the Istanbul Sheraton."
He drove off.
KERUMPH! BLOWIE!
The hotel went up!
I had covered that part of my trail.
Geysers of orange flame bulged into the sky.
The cab slued slightly with concussion.
"What was that?" the hacker said.
Aha. Trying to get information to tell the women later! I would handle that.
We drove along. He started into a shortcut up a narrow and deserted street. "Stop here a moment," I said.
He braked.
I hit him over the head with the Beretta butt. He fell sideways.
I got out. I pushed him onto the floor in front. I got in and started up the cab. I knew where I was going. It was not the Istanbul Sheraton, Gods forbid! I had to get out of Turkey.
I knew where I was. I headed for a ferry pier on the Golden Horn.
I passed mosque after mosque. Istanbul is absolutely crowded with mosques. All ready to fall over and stone
one to death at the command of the Prophet. Nerve-wracking. But I held on to my nerve.
The ferry pier was deserted at this time of night. I knew it would be. I got out. I removed my bag. I put the taxi in low gear. I walked beside it, steering. I stepped away.
Roar-SPLASH!
The waves raced outward in the dark.
Bubbles came up from the sinking cab.
I had covered one more part of my trail.
I ran back and got my grip. I knew exactly where I was bound now.
Speeding along the shore paths which ran perpendicular to the jutting piers, I came to a jammed fleet of fish boats.