The Dardanelles Conspiracy Alan Bardos (reading a book txt) 📖

you to your room, Effendi.’ The doorman’s voice was wonderfully soothing.

Johnny slapped the doorman on the back in thanks. The doorman led him to the lift and lent him against the wall as it went up two levels. Then deftly guided him into his room, dropped him on the floor and went to the washstand.

‘I say, that’s no way to treat a guest,’ Johnny said, trying to pull himself up.

The doorman gave him a glass of water. ‘Shut up and drink that.’

Johnny took the glass. ‘Thanks, I am a little thirsty.’

He drank half of it and gagged at the taste of salt. The doorman thrust a porcelain bowl into his hands, and not a moment too soon. Johnny’s face felt like it was bursting as his stomach muscles heaved up a fountain of bile, straining in the effort to split him in two.

Eventually the heaving stopped and the doorman passed him another glass. ‘Don’t worry, it’s just water.’

Johnny gulped it down and began to feel slightly better. ‘Do you normally perform that kind of service for the hotel’s guests?’

‘No, I bloody well don’t.’ The soft Eastern accent had been replaced by the clipped tones of a British Army Officer. ‘And if you were halfway sober, you would realise that I don’t work here and could in fact be anyone.’

‘Go easy, I’m a bit delicate.’ Johnny started to focus on the man. He wasn’t wearing a uniform, but a pretty nondescript dinner jacket and could have been any self-important businessman.

‘You’re an absolute bloody disgrace!’ the man said, standing with his hands on his hips.

‘Even if that were true, what’s it to you?’ Johnny replied. The chap was starting to annoy him.

‘I’ve been charging around after you, that’s what bloody business it is of mine!’

‘Oh, you’re my contact. Well, surely they told you when I was arriving, you should have been on time to meet me,’ Johnny said, starting to regain his composure.

‘My God, you are a contrary brute. I was on time and at the right hotel.’

‘Oh, I see.’ Johnny remembered someone had said something about booking him a room at the Pera Palace Hotel, when he was on the steamer. ‘I just fell in with the crowd when I got here. Still, no harm done.’

‘No harm! I’ve been risking my life in every place I’ve been forced to look for you.’

‘Oh well, sorry and all that,’ Johnny said, getting up and pouring himself more water. If the chap had been polite, he might have felt worse about putting him in danger. ‘Aren’t there people shadowing me? I really can’t be held responsible if they don’t keep you apprised of my movements.’

‘How do you think I managed to find you? Have you got any idea how much trouble you’ve put me to? Just because you decided to bunk up with Fritz!’

‘I didn’t want to raise any suspicion,’ Johnny said.

‘Yes, you are quite the perfect little Hun.’ He passed Johnny a letter. ‘Here, you had better take this then.’

‘What is it?’ Johnny took the letter and lay down on the bed.

‘For goodness sake, if that doesn’t just take the biscuit. It’s the letter you were sent here to deliver to the Grand Rabbi, although I don’t know why you bothered.’ The man turned to leave.

Johnny glanced at the envelope, stamped with an Imperial German Eagle, and read the gothic script. It was addressed to an Abraham Nahum, care of the Grand Ottoman bank, on the Grand Rue de Pera. ‘Hang on a minute, is this where the Grand Rabbi lives?’

‘Don’t be stupid. One doesn’t simply turn up to see the Grand Rabbi of Constantinople with something like that. Are you trying to scupper the whole plan?’

‘No, but it’s a good job I took a room at this hotel. I mean it is rather handy, it is on the same street as the bank.’ Johnny felt vindicated enough now to ask questions. ‘Who is Abraham Nahum and why is the letter addressed to him?’

The man tensed. Johnny saw his frustration was increasing with every moment he stayed in the room. ‘He's the Grand Rabbi’s favourite nephew or adopted son, take your pick. Didn’t they tell you any of this?’

‘No,’ Johnny said.

‘I see, like that, is it? Well, I better not blab too much. Sounds like you’re for the chop, old son and I like to keep my head on my shoulders. Anyway, best of British and all that.’

‘How do I contact you with the reply?’ Johnny asked.

‘The nephew chap will arrange all that. With any luck, we won't see each other again.’

‘Suit yourself, you strike me as a bit of a bore anyway.’ Johnny turned over and was asleep before he’d finished the sentence.

Chapter 16

Johnny waited for a tram to trundle past then edged his way into the tide of people and vehicles. The Grand Street of Pera was a lot narrower and busier than he remembered it being the previous night.

The architecture had a strong Latin resonance. He could have been back in Italy but for the Middle Eastern influence that pervaded the city, from the red fez hats, to the exotic cakes on display. It had probably seen better days, but to Johnny everything seemed vibrant and full of colour.

He got a hundred yards before he realised that he didn’t know where he was going and tried to get his bearings as the crowd nervously pushed past him. Everyone seemed scared and preoccupied. He stepped down an alley and sat at a pavement café with a vine-covered trellis roof.

‘Yes?’ A waiter was gazing down at him curiously. He spoke in broken German. ‘Is there something the matter?’

‘Schnapps, and make it quick,’ Johnny snapped. It was the first phrase that he’d learnt to say in German with a Prussian accent.

‘Alas, we only have