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

‘I appreciate that none of this is your fault, it is not a matter of compensation. I just wish to recover the shipment. If I knew who the party in question was…’ Breitner placed a note in front of the Attendant who brushed it up with a graceful sweep of his hand.

‘You understand that I did not wish to tell you who impounded the shipment, in case there was a diplomatic incident or scandal of some kind.’

‘Don’t worry, I have no intention of making a scandal out of a farce,’ Breitner said wearily.

‘Very well, it was impounded by a German diplomatic courier.’

‘There has either been some kind of mix up or the Germans have just taken the champagne, either way it is gone.’ Which Breitner accepted was his fault when he reported to von Grubber.

‘This is a disaster, this is an outrage! A slight by our German allies in Constantinople, who think it right to demean our proud empire in such a manner! The Ambassador’s champagne has been taken and you stand there insolently staring at me, Major Breitner.’

‘It was a German diplomatic courier. He was unlikely to have been a member of the German diplomatic mission in Constantinople.’

‘THAT IS NEITHER HERE NOR THERE! You must go to the German Embassy and identify the culprit, so we can lodge a formal complaint and begin proceedings to recover our champagne.’

Chapter 19

Esther frowned, the arrangements for the meeting had been rushed and it was showing in the careless presentation of the food.

She'd reserved a private room in her favourite restaurant, near the Galata Bridge, and ordered the usual selection of Turkish cuisine for visitors to the city who wanted a taste of the exotic.

Esther rearranged the plates of food. It was all far from the exacting standards she would have liked. The splendour of the restaurant’s domed ceiling, decorated in bright blue and turquoise tiles, at least added a taste of decadence to make diners feel like a sultan in his harem.

Esther gazed out of a latticed window onto the turbulent stretch of water where the Golden Horn met the Bosphorus. Lights from ferry boats and the surrounding city glistened on the water, adding a glowing silhouette to the night sky over Asia. It was a view that never failed to impress.

The restaurant was an excellent place to entertain prospective investors from Europe. In the past Abraham would accompany her as adviser and chaperone, acting as a male presence for businessmen unused to negotiating with a woman.

She listened to the lyrical call to prayers from the New Mosque and then gathered herself as Abraham arrived.

‘Good evening,’ Abraham spoke in German. 'Please accept my apologies if we are late. I had to drag our friend here out of the hotel bar.'

Abraham stepped aside and Esther saw a tall, rugged man, with strong, sharp features and a bored, supercilious expression. Her overall impression was pretty, but soiled. Just the sort of man to cause a stir in her wayward little sister.

'Miss Weisz, may I present Herr Ernst von Jager.’

Swift, or von Jager as they were calling him, looked alarmed when he saw her. ‘Miss Weisz?’

‘Yes, Esther Weisz.’ She offered him her hand.

Swift's bored expression vanished and a raffish grin spread over his face, which faded into a sneer as he took her hand and kissed it. He looked about to say something, but Abraham interrupted.

‘Miss Weisz is here as a partner in this venture, she will be treated with the utmost respect.’

‘Yes, of course,’ Swift said, his intentions sounding anything but respectful. As a woman Esther thought he was the most untrustworthy person she'd ever encountered. She didn’t doubt for a minute that Kati would have been intrigued.

‘Shall we?’ Esther asked and led them to the table.

Swift ate with gusto. He was certainly a man of hearty appetites. Esther was sure that he was the person Kati had known in Sarajevo, but there was one test she knew would prove it for certain. ‘Would you care for a burek?’

He looked pale for a moment and stopped eating. ‘What did you say?’

‘I asked if you would like some burek, it’s spiced meat in pastry.’

‘It would be the only thing that he didn’t care for,’ Abraham commented dryly.

Swift shrugged at Abraham and glanced at the view of the Golden Horn. ‘This food – this magical place is all very different from the mud and bully beef I’m used to.’ He looked directly into Esther’s eyes. ‘As it happens, I do rather care for burek. The last time I had one was in a park in Sarajevo and a dashed pretty, if not a trifle opinionated, girl was sharing it with me.’

Esther took a sip of water to hide her smile. Kati had written to her of the encounter.

Abraham looked at his watch. ‘Shall we get down to business?’

‘Here – now?’ Swift asked.

‘It is perfectly safe. Miss Weisz and I have conducted business here before. This will appear no different,’ Abraham said.

‘It is Miss Weisz that I’m concerned about,’ Swift said bluntly. ‘I might be mistaken, but I’m sure I met her sister in Sarajevo, before the war, and she was Hungarian. Aren’t they on the German side? What’s more, her sister worked for a Hungarian spymaster.’

‘Dear Laszlo was not a spymaster!’ The thought amused Esther. ‘And Kati did not work for him.’

‘Laszlo! So … so you know him?’ Swift stood up, looking around.

‘Yes, of course, we were once engaged to be married. In fact, he called on me only the other day,’ Esther said.

To her surprise Swift laughed and sat down. ‘Now that is just ridiculous. You expect me to believe that you, you who are so… how could you have been engaged to someone so prudish and joyless?’

Esther wasn’t