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

Johnny felt in his pocket. He had a small bottle of schnapps that he’d brought at the hotel, but there wasn’t much left and decided to save it. ‘Very well, bring me raki!’

The waiter nodded matter-of-factly. Johnny was just another soldier from the front, trying to forget seeing his men blown apart… mutilated and screaming, clawing at the wire.

Every time he tried to stand up Williams pulled him down, the corporal was concussed from the 5.9 shell that had torn through the patrol. He was lying in the mud disoriented and wouldn't let go of Johnny’s leg. Johnny couldn't bear it. He grabbed Williams and ran for all he was worth.

Johnny tried to shut out the memories. He had no idea why they'd appeared, he only knew he couldn't make them stop. The waiter came back and poured a glass of clear liquid.

‘Would you like me to leave the bottle?’ the waiter asked, not unsympathetically.

‘I will tell you if I require the bottle,’ Johnny barked, irritated by his tone. The waiter bowed and placed a jug of water on the table, before retreating.

Johnny poured some of the water into the raki, watching as it gently misted over and hoped it would have the same effect on his mind. If he couldn’t forget the screams of his men he could at least dull them.

He picked up the glass with a reassuring tremor. The sweet aroma of aniseed wafted towards him. He suddenly felt nauseous, but forced himself to tilt his head back and pour it down.

Johnny looked at the grey sky through the vines, feeling the raki warm him. It was a god-awful day. He really hated this time of year, but it felt good to be alive. He signalled to the waiter who poured him another healthy measure of joy. Johnny took the letter out of his pocket and read the address again.

‘Where is this bank?’ Johnny showed the waiter the address and knocked back the raki. The waiter cocked his head making a show of thinking, then pointed left. Johnny put a pile of notes on the table and went back onto the boulevard, turning left into the stream of people.

The Grand Ottoman bank was a couple of yards down and looked like a Greek temple. Johnny decided to finish his schnapps. He didn’t think that this was going to be dangerous, but if his past experiences of Sir George were anything to go by, then he could well be walking into some kind of a trap. The angry man last night had certainly implied that Johnny was being played for a fool.

He walked through a pillared portico and went into the crowded lobby. Johnny approached a senior-looking floor walker, strutting about, and handed him the envelope.

‘Can you see that this gets to the person it’s addressed to?’ Johnny said in crisp German and turned to leave.

‘One moment please, sir. Where has this come from and who are you?’ the floor walker asked in competent German and grabbed Johnny’s wrist. An unexplained message was obviously highly irregular.

‘My name is Ernst von Jager and I’m from the German Embassy in Sofia. Not that it is any concern of yours. I was instructed to deliver this message and that’s precisely what I’ve done,’ Johnny said, trying to break the man’s surprisingly strong grip.

‘This message bears the Imperial German crest and should be delivered in person.’ The floor walker handed the letter back.

Johnny glanced at the crest embossed on the envelope. He knew that Fitzmaurice had planned this. To make sure he handed the message over as instructed. He followed the floor walker through the bank, to the top floor and was kept waiting for ten minutes before being shown into an office that matched the neoclassical façade of the building.

‘I am Abraham Nahum, how can I help you?’ A man with a perfectly groomed beard addressed Johnny, from behind a large desk.

‘I have a letter for you. Apparently, it has to be delivered to you personally,’ Johnny said, trying to hide his annoyance.

‘You are from the German Embassy in Sofia?’

‘Yes, I have credentials somewhere,’ Johnny said searching his pockets.

‘That won’t be necessary. I can smell the schnapps from here. Would you care for some refreshment?’ Abraham asked.

‘Schnapps, since you mention it, would be perfect.’

Abraham smiled wryly and signalled to an assistant. ‘Coffee I think.’

He held his hand out to Johnny, who reached across the desk to shake it. ‘That is most courteous of you, but the letter, if I may.’

‘Sorry, beg pardon.’ Johnny felt his cheeks burn as he placed the letter firming into Abraham‘s hand. He glanced at the address and signalled for Johnny to sit.

‘Please, won’t you take coffee?’ Abraham asked. The assistant had silently returned with a tray.

‘Yes, thank you.’

The assistant poured him a thimble of fragrant Turkish coffee from a long-handled copper jug and placed it next to Johnny with a bowl of sugar cubes and a small glass of water, then left.

Nahum broke the seal on the envelope and pulled the letter out. He pointed at the Lion and the Unicorn letterhead. ‘You are perhaps not what you pretend to be. I’m not entirely surprised.’

Johnny couldn't believe he'd been walking around with something so incriminating. If he'd been caught with that, he certainly would have been for the chop. It explained why the angry man last night had been so peeved about having to carry it around Constantinople.

He tried to remain as alert as possible while Abraham read the letter, deciding on the best escape route if things turned nasty. It was either the window or the door. They were four stories up so the window probably wasn’t the best bet, but the door led out through a battery of bank officials who could impede his escape through sheer weight