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

‘So you have come from Mr Whittall, my old friend and employer. How is he?’ Abraham asked at last. Johnny presumed that was the reason why Eady had said Whittall trusted him.

‘Witthall is just as cantankerous as ever, I should imagine, but a jolly nice fellow all the same.’

Abraham appeared amused by Johnny’s attempt at servility. ‘You know what this letter is of course?’ he asked in English.

‘I have a fair idea,’ Johnny replied.

‘It says that your name is Jonathan Swift and that you are to be considered a delegate of the British Government. So I am at something of a loss as to why you wanted to hand a document of this significance over to the door staff and leave?’ Abraham put the letter down and waited for an explanation.

‘Well, you make me sound more important than I really am. I’m just a glorified postman and I thought the longer I spent here, the more likely I am to draw attention to yourself and the whole operation,’ Johnny said, adopting the professional persona he’d learnt from his year in the Diplomatic Service.

‘That does seem plausible. It may have been better if you had waited until after business hours to approach me. As it is, the bank does a lot of business with the German government, transferring special loans to my government. So your presence can be easily explained.’ Abraham flicked his wrist, unwilling to waste any more time on something so trivial, and got down to business.

‘You wish me to intercede on your country’s behalf to ask the Chief Rabbi to act as your emissary.’ Abraham held up the letter. ‘However, his pro-allied sympathies are well known to the authorities, so we must be careful in how we approach this matter. You will have to be more than a postman and act for the British government.’

‘To attend meetings and such like. To in effect be a figurehead while the negotiations are conducted by the Grand Rabbi,’ Johnny said speculatively. Although if he knew Sir George, the letter he had just delivered would say he could be used to spring any trap Abraham foresaw, in attempting to negotiate with the Young Turk government.

‘Yes, and such like. What an interesting turn of phrase.’ Abraham put the letter down.

‘So you will help?’ Johnny asked. ‘I’m sure that some kind of arrangement can be made before the Royal Navy turns up and starts firing at you.’

Johnny dipped a sugar cube into the thick grainy coffee and placed it in his mouth as he waited for an answer. He was pleased with the subtlety of his carrot and stick approach. Which he felt conveyed everything he’d been told to convey, in as courteous a manner as possible.

‘I see that you are familiar with our style of coffee. I had wondered what sort of man the British had sent here.’

‘I travelled a little before the war. I was in the British Diplomatic Service, doing little jobs not unlike this.’

‘And you were in Asia Minor? That would explain why you were sent here,’ Abraham said.

‘No, Eastern Europe. Sarajevo was where I developed a taste for Turkish coffee.’ Johnny dipped another sugar cube into his coffee.

‘Ah, I see.’

Johnny got the impression that Abraham was just going through the motions of conversation while his mind studied a more immediate problem.

‘My understanding is that the people of the Balkans felt oppressed by the rule of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Their will to be free is what started this whole war.’

‘Well, there is a little more to it than that…’

Abraham cut Johnny off as he evidently came to a decision. ‘The Turkish people feel a similar opposition to the Germans and their dragging us into their war. It is that desire to be free which could end the war.’

‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand, aren’t you allies with Germany?’ Johnny asked.

‘Every morning the people can be seen on their roofs looking out to sea and do you know what they are waiting for? The British Fleet to arrive, but they are not waiting for the Royal Navy to destroy them, but to liberate them. Something I’m sure members of the Young Turkish government are acutely aware of and therefore they may be willing to negotiate, to hold onto their power.’

Abraham paused to dip a sugar cube in his coffee. ‘So you see there is no need for hidden threats. As for an “arrangement”, that does not interest me personally, but it will be necessary to help come to an arrangement with people in positions of influence.’

He placed the whole sugar cube in his mouth and crunched it. ‘Return to your hotel and wait there until I send for you.

Chapter 17

Esther Weisz entered the marble lobby of the bank. The fluted columns and domed ceiling always made her feel like she was in a temple of commerce, and she was the chief worshiper. With a sigh, she moved past the flock of dejected souls who had been refused the favour of the Gods of finance.

‘Good afternoon, Miss Weisz.’ The head floor walker greeted her. His family had been in the bank's service since it was founded by Venetian merchants.

‘Good Afternoon, Giuseppe. I have an appointment with Mr Nahum.' Esther had been summoned, no doubt to discuss her failing attempts to save the family business.

Giuseppe bowed and escorted her past rows of busy clerks and into a lift. Esther could have found the way with her eyes closed. She had been coming to the bank for years with her father. Its golden décor had been the bars that caged her dreams.

‘Ah, Esther, please come in.’ Abraham got up from behind his large rosewood desk, to welcome her. ‘Thank you for coming to see me.' He dutifully kissed her cheek. His lips felt dry, reserved and correct. All the men she knew