Kerim stretched out his huge hand. Vavra took it and held it and looked into Kerim’s eyes. For a moment his own fierce eyes seemed to go opaque. Then the gipsy let the hand drop and turned to Bond. The hand was dry and rough and padded like the paw of a big animal. Again the eyes went opaque. He let go of Bond’s hand. He spoke rapidly and urgently to Kerim and turned his back on them and walked away towards the trees.
Nobody looked up from his work as Kerim and Bond climbed through the breach in the wall. The Rolls stood, glittering in the moonlight, a few yards down the road opposite the cafe entrance. A young man was sitting beside the chauffeur. Kerim gestured with his hand. `That is my tenth son. He is called Boris. I thought I might need him. I shall.’
The youth turned and said, `Good evening, sir.’ Bond recognized him as one of the clerks in the warehouse. He was as dark and lean as the head clerk, and his eyes also were blue.
The car moved down the hill. Kerim spoke to the chauffeur in English. `It is a small street off the Hippodrome Square. When we get there we will proceed softly. I will tell you when to stop. Have you got the uniforms and the equipment?’
`Yes, Kerim Bey.’
`All right. Make good speed. It is time we were all in bed.’
Kerim sank back in his seat. He took out a cigarette. They sat and smoked. Bond gazed out at the drab streets and reflected that sparse street-lighting is the sure sign of a poor town.
It was some time before Kerim spoke. Then he said, `The gipsy said we both have the wings of death over us. He said that I am to beware of a son of the snows and you must beware of a man who is owned by the moon.’ He laughed harshly. `That is the sort of rigmarole they talk. But he says that Krilencu isn’t either of these men. That is good.’
`Why?’
`Because I cannot sleep until I have killed that man. I do not know if what happened tonight has any connection with you and your assignment. I do not care. For some reason, war has been declared on me. If I do not kill Krilencu, at the third attempt he will certainly kill me. So we are now on our way to keep an appointment with him in Samarra.’
Chapter Nineteen
The Mouth of Marilyn Monroe
The car sped through the deserted streets, past shadowy mosques from which dazzling minarets lanced up towards the three-quarter moon, under the ruined Aqueduct and across the Ataturk Boulevard and north of the barred entrances to the Grand Bazaar. At the Column of Constantine the car turned right, through mean twisting streets that smelled of garbage, and finally debouched into a long ornamental square in which three stone columns fired themselves like a battery of space-rockets into the spangled sky.
`Slow,’ said Kerim softly. They crept round the square under the shadow of the lime trees. Down a street on the east side, the lighthouse below the Seraglio Palace gave them a great yellow wink.
`Stop.’
The car pulled up in the darkness under the limes. Kerim reached for the door handle. `We shan’t be long, James. You sit up front in the driver’s seat and if a policeman comes along just say “Ben Bey Kerim’in ortagiyim”. Can you remember that? It means “I am Kerim Bey’s partner”. They’ll leave you alone.’
Bond snorted. `Thanks very much. But you’ll be surprised to hear I’m coming with you. You’re bound to get into trouble without me. Anyway I’m damned if I’m going to sit here trying to bluff policemen. The worst of learning one good phrase is that it sounds as if one knew the language. The policeman will come back with a barrage of Turkish and when I can’t answer he’ll smell a rat. Don’t argue, Darko.’
`Well, don’t blame me if you don’t like this.’ Kerim’s voice was embarrassed. `It’s going to be a straight killing in cold blood. In my country you let sleeping dogs lie, but when they wake up and bite, you shoot them. You don’t offer them a duel. All right?’