The Mephisto Threat. E.V. Seymour

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СКАЧАТЬ nodded, raised his tied hands, rubbed at his ear and did his best to look stricken. Inside he boiled with rage. In two fluid movements, he could throw his head back against the goon standing behind him, swing his hands round and punch Ertas in the throat, smashing the hyoid bone.

      ‘And after dinner, what did you do then?’ Ertas continued elegantly.

      ‘I went for a stroll.’

      ‘Where?’

      ‘Not sure I re—’

      Another clout on the other side ensured that he did. He told Ertas what he wanted to hear. No point in denying it. These guys already knew where he’d been.

      Ertas leant forward with a tight smile. ‘You were observed, Mr Miller, following a man who is of interest to us.’

      ‘I don’t know wha—’ Tallis flinched, expecting another blow. But it was Ertas who raised his hand in a restraining gesture. Tallis heard Koroglu grunt with frustration at being denied another chance to use him like a punchbag.

      ‘You deny it?’ Ertas’s expression was hard.

      Tallis smiled. ‘Since when was following someone a criminal offence?’

      ‘So you were following him.’

      Checkmate, Tallis thought. Those blows to his head must have addled his thinking.

      ‘The man in question,’ Ertas continued smoothly, ‘is a Moroccan known to have links with al-Qaeda.’ A Moroccan? Tallis thought, surprised. According to his victim’s passport, he had been a Turk—unless it was false, like his own. ‘He was deported by your own government two years ago,’ Ertas continued, ‘and is of interest to the United States.’

      Shit. Tallis baulked. Who the hell did they think he was? More to the point, who were they? In his mind, the USA was synonymous with extraordinary rendition and secret detention centres. Could this be one of them? From what he’d heard, they were more likely to be found in Poland and Romania, but the closed prisons there were reputed to be full and so the States had outsourced and turned their attention to the Horn of Africa. What all this definitely pointed to: Garry Morello had been onto something, and he was deep in the shit. He remained stubborn. ‘I don’t see what this has to do with me.’

      ‘Because you were the last person to see him alive,’ Ertas said, down-turned eyes meeting Tallis’s.

      ‘You mean he’s dead,’ Tallis said, sounding aghast.

      Ertas picked up the phone, ordered a jug of water and two glasses. Nobody said a word. Tallis was trying to work out what they wanted from him, confession or revelation? The water arrived. Ertas poured out, unlocked Tallis’s cuffs and handed the glass to Tallis who drank it down in one. ‘Thank you.’

      ‘So, Mr Miller,’ Ertas said. ‘Would you like to explain exactly what you were doing?’

      ‘All right,’ Tallis said with a heavy sigh. ‘I admit I followed him. I recognised him from when I was in the café with Mr Morello.’

      ‘Our Moroccan friend was at the Byzantium?’ Something in Ertas’s expression led Tallis to believe that he already knew the answer to the question.

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Then why didn’t you mention this when we spoke at the station? Why was this not in your statement?’

      ‘Because I didn’t think it relevant.’

      ‘But you thought it relevant later.’ There was a cynical note in Ertas’s tone.

      ‘No, you don’t understand.’ Tallis allowed his voice to notch up a register to simulate frustration. ‘It was only because I saw the guy there in the evening.’

      ‘When you went back to the café,’ Ertas said, scratching his head.

      ‘Foolish, I know, but I was hoping to find something important that might help with your inquiry.’

      Ertas flashed another tight, disbelieving smile. ‘And then what?’

      ‘I followed him.’

      ‘Where?’

      ‘To the gardens at Topkapi. Then I lost him.’

      Ertas glanced up at Koroglu. ‘Ask him what he was planning to do,’ Koroglu ordered in Turkish. Ertas nodded. Obedient, he put the question.

      ‘I don’t know.’ Tallis shrugged. ‘Talk.’

      ‘To a stranger, in the middle of the night, in a foreign land? Wasn’t that reckless of you?’

      ‘I suppose it was. I wasn’t thinking.’ But he was now; he was thinking that the guy standing behind him wasn’t what he seemed at all. He’d assumed Ertas was calling the shots. He was wrong.

      ‘Did you know he was armed?’ Ertas said, watching Tallis like a crow observed carrion.

      ‘Certainly not.’

      Koroglu spoke again. ‘Tell him that we know he intended to meet the Moroccan. Tell him that he had already contacted him in Britain. Stress that he has already lied and to lie further will only make things worse.’

      Tallis did his best not to jump in, to shout and protest his innocence. Ertas, meanwhile, cleared his throat and repeated word for word what Koroglu had said.

      ‘This is ridiculous. I never met the guy before coming to Turkey. I don’t even know his name.’

      ‘And your name is?’

      Neat move. Tallis didn’t flinch. ‘David Miller. Look, is this a case of mistaken identity or something?’ he said, twisting round. Mistake. Koroglu whipped a ringed hand across his mouth. Tallis registered the distinctive taste of metal and sand as blood dribbled down his chin.

      ‘Point out that we can keep him here indefinitely if we have to,’ Koroglu said savagely.

      Ertas did.

      ‘I’m a British citizen, for God’s sake. You have no jurisdiction to keep me here.’

      ‘Tell him to shut up. Ask him about his business interests,’ Koroglu commanded.

      Ertas again complied.

      ‘What? I told you, I’m an IT consultant.’

      ‘You work from home?’

      ‘No, I—’

      ‘Where is home?’

      ‘Birmingham, West Midlands, UK.’

      Ertas glanced up at Koroglu with a significance that made Tallis realise he was sunk.

      ‘What is your religion, Mr Miller?’ Ertas said, inclining towards him.

      ‘My religion?’

      Koroglu СКАЧАТЬ