Who he might be and who might be his employers were still unanswerable questions. But they did not matter tremendously. What did matter was that I seemed to have a load of dynamite in my little leather satchel. It scarcely concerned me where the plans had come from or where they were supposed to be going. But the whole world now knew that I had those plans and the whole world also knew, somehow, that I was on my way to Balikesir, and this was a matter of considerable concern.
How they had found out was another good question. Any of several persons could have told them-Kitty, the Dolans, even Esteban, although I couldn’t recall mentioning my precise destination to him. For that matter, I had left a map of Turkey in my apartment, with Balikesir circled in bright blue ink. By now it was reasonable to assume that my apartment had been searched a dozen times over, and the bright blue circle on my map would certainly have been noticed by someone. I didn’t think Kitty would have talked and I couldn’t picture the Dolans as informers, but of course if Esteban had known anything I’m sure he would have run off at the mouth to the first person who caught hold of him.
The Radio Moscow program had an added kicker. Nothing about the British plans this time, nothing at all. But there was a brief report that went something like this:
“Continuing their program of harassment, agents of the American Central Intelligence Agency once again launched a desperate attempt to undermine the security of one of the peace-loving socialist republics of Eastern Europe. This time our sister nation of Yugoslavia was the victim. Playing on racial friction and decadent economic drives, CIA operatives under the direction of Ivan Mikhail Tanner sparked an abortive fascist coup in the Province of Macedonia. With tons of smuggled weapons and the tactics of Washington-trained terrorists, these social fascists were able to overcome the efforts of the fine people of several Macedonian villages. Through the efforts of people in the surrounding territory, and with the aid of crack government troops from Belgrade, the Washington-inspired uprising was quickly brought under control and the wave of terror ended forever.”
I poured myself a fresh glass of wine. It was beginning to look as though there would be quite a delegation waiting for me in Balikesir. The British, the Irish, the Russians, the Turks, the Americans-and, of course, the nameless band that had stolen those plans in the first place.
Why, I was finally beginning to wonder, hadn’t I stayed home where I belonged?
“Perhaps I am overly fond of those two programs,” Father Gregor commented. “Each, as you can see, is a source of great amusement to me. You noticed, for example, the two rather divergent views of last night’s trouble in Macedonia? I wonder which came closest to the truth.”
We were drinking thick, bitter coffee in small cups. The radio was silent now. I had trouble paying attention to Father Gregor. My mind was grimly occupied with two problems-the impossibility of entering Turkey and the equal impossibility of leaving Turkey.
“I noticed, too, that one man was mentioned on both programs, though in different contexts. A Mr. Tanner. Did you notice that?”
“Yes.”
“Do you find this amusing?”
“I-”
He smiled gently. “May we halt this masquerade? Unless I am very much mistaken, which, I admit, is of course a possibility, I believe that you are the Evan Michael Tanner of whom they speak. Is that correct?”
I didn’t say anything.
His eyes glinted brightly. “The infinite variety of life, Mr. Tanner. Once, shortly after the war, I had two alternative courses of action. I could continue to lead a very fast-paced absorbing life. Or I could, so to speak, retire to Sofia. I selected the latter course. As I’ve mentioned, many persons questioned this decision. That American song-how does it go? About the difficulty of keeping boys on the farm after they’ve been to France. Do I have it right?”
“More or less.”
“Good. At any rate, I made my decision. The precise reasons for it are unimportant. A combination, perhaps, of self-preservation and the conservatism that comes with years. I have noticed, though, that life does not pass one by. When one lives in Sofia, excitement comes to Sofia.”
He picked up his coffee, studied it, then set the cup down untasted. “I suspected your identity from the first, if you are interested. You were referred by a member of IMRO, and of course that made me think of Macedonia, and I had heard of you in connection with the uprising. And we spoke in English. That was a test of mine, you see. Your Bulgar is better than my own English, actually. Quite unaccented. But your English has an American accent. This led me to the rather obvious conclusion that you were an American. And during the program I observed your reactions to the various reports upon your activities. But you do not really want to hear me boast of my prowess as a detective, do you? Hardly. At any rate, I know that you are you. Are you really going to Ankara? Or was the report correct?”
“I’m going to a small town. As they said.”
“Ah. You have friends there?”
“No.”
“None at all?”
“None.”
He stroked his chin. “I trust you have a very important reason for going there?”
“Yes.”
“May I ask you a delicate question?”
“Of course.”
“You need not answer it, and I need not add that you have the option to answer it untruthfully. Is there, perhaps, the opportunity for you of financial profit in Turkey?”
I hesitated for some time. He waited in respectful silence. Finally I said that there was an opportunity for financial profit.
“Substantial profit?”
“Quite.”
“So I suspected. I presume you would prefer not to tell me your precise destination in Turkey?”
Did it matter? The rest of the world already seemed to know. I said, “Balikesir.”
“I do not know it. In the northwest?”
“Yes.”
He took an atlas from a shelf, thumbed through it, located a map of Turkey, studied it, then looked up at me and nodded. “Balikesir,” he said.
“Yes.”
Father Gregor got to his feet and walked to the window. While looking out it he said, “In your position, Mr. Tanner, I would have a great advantage. I am, as you no doubt know, of the Left Hand. I would be able to enlist the aid of other members of the Left Hand. If I were attempting to bring something into Turkey, they might help me. If, on the other hand, I were bringing something out of Turkey, they again might be of assistance.”
I said nothing. I sipped my coffee. It was cold.
“Of course, there is a custom in the Society. I would be expected to give to the Left Hand a tithe of the proceeds of the venture. A tenth part of whatever gain I realized.”
“I see.”
“What sort of profit do you anticipate?”
“Perhaps a great deal if my information is correct. Perhaps none at all.”
“How large a sum if your information is right?”
I named a figure.
“A tenth part of that,” said Father Gregor, “would be a substantial sum. Sufficient, I am sure, to interest the Left Hand.”
I said nothing.
“But perhaps you would not care to part with a tithe?”
“That would depend.”
“On whether you need assistance? And on whether it can be supplied?”
“More or less.”
“Ah.” He put his hands together. “It would be possible to assemble a dozen very skillful men in Balikesir at whatever time you might designate. It would be possible to supply the materials you might need for a proper escape. It would be possible-”
“A plane?”
“Not without extreme difficulty. Would a boat do?”
“Yes.”
“A boat is easily arranged. How powerful a boat would you require?”
“One that could reach Lebanon.”