“He paid the daughter of a neighbor to look in on her. Their agreement was that if his mother became unwell, the girl would move in and take care of her. He gave her some money and promised her a lot more.”
“And you’ll be watching when it’s delivered.”
“The house is under surveillance. When the payment comes, they’ll trace it, hopefully back to Vahid.”
“Do you think he left the country?”
Yorg Pasha thought for a moment. “This is his habitat. I doubt he’d stray far from it.”
“So Akrep is going after its own chief?”
“The sultan has disbanded Akrep, although he still has his own secret police. He’s moving ahead with an even bigger secret organization, the Teshkilati Mahsusa.”
“An intelligence service,” Kamil observed. “I understand they plan to send spies abroad.” He set down his cup and stretched his legs out. “If it’s run well, it might benefit us. We need better information about what the British and the Russians are planning.”
“And the French, Germans, Armenians, and Greeks. Just spit in Istanbul and you hit a foreign spy. We need our own sources.” Yorg Pasha focused on Kamil’s face. “Your father would be proud of you.”
“What do you mean?” A breeze ghosted through the branches of the Stewartia tree, dislodging a torrent of white petals.
“The hero of Trabzon, celebrated in European capitals. Wouldn’t that be the perfect front for an intelligence chief? Sultan Abdulhamid has mentioned your name in connection with the position.”
Kamil was taken aback. “I’ve heard nothing about that. I’m not sure I’m interested.” His eyes strayed to the terrace, where Elif sat beside Feride, stroking a white cat in her lap.
“You may not have a choice.”
Kamil closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the trunk of the tree, his lips pressed tightly together. Petals drifted down and cooled his cheeks like the false promise of paradise.