Letter from a Stranger

The young man beamed. ‘Thank you. It is special. Rare. An Ozipek. The best name, a good name.’

Another young man appeared carrying a tray with glasses of tea on it, and both women took a glass. Leaning closer, Iffet murmured, ‘It is the custom, serving tea. And we have to drink it, or they will be offended.’

When Kemal returned a short while later, Mustafa left the showroom and Kemal spoke swiftly in Turkish, after excusing himself to Justine.

Once he had finished, Iffet made a moue. ‘Some good news. Kemal’s father did know your grandmother. He told Kemal that an Englishwoman called Gabri did buy carpets from him. The bad news is that he hasn’t seen her for some years. I am so sorry.’

‘It’s okay. And at least we know Gran did spend time in Istanbul. Gabri is her nickname, by the way.’

TEN

The man cut quite a swathe as he walked through the lobby of the Çiragan Palace Hotel Kempinski, was well aware of the glances cast his way. He was used to it, therefore paid no attention.

His name was Michael Dalton, and he was tall, lithe, and in excellent physical condition at the age of thirty-nine. Because of his arresting dark good looks and last name, the movie buffs who met him thought he might be the brother of the British actor Timothy Dalton. But he was not, nor was he in the business of treading the boards or making movies.

Michael Dalton was in a very different kind of game, and it was one that was close to his heart. It took him all over the world and threw him into a mix of very diverse people. He always held his own whatever company he kept, and his geniality, charm and ready smile were captivating, disarming and persuasive, camouflaging the true nature of the man. Only a scant few were ever allowed to see the real Michael Dalton, get a glimpse of his superior intelligence, inside knowledge of international politics and formidable understanding of world history.

There was a lot of speculation about what he really did for a living. Some people said he was a secret agent with the CIA. Others maintained he was British-born, worked for British Intelligence, and went undercover for MI6. And there were those who insisted he was a negotiator, a fixer, a go-between for presidents and prime ministers. Others had decided he constructed huge financial deals for tycoons, tyrants and oligarchs. They insisted that was where all his money came from. But they were wrong.

Michael Dalton did exactly what he actually purported to do. He owned and ran an international security company with offices in London, Paris and New York. It was renowned, had a fine reputation and was highly successful with a raft of big clients, including major corporations, banks and multinationals.

Many of the other things bandied around about him happened to be true. He was an American, had been born in New York, had attended Princeton and Harvard, did have a law degree and had been engaged. Once. Now he was unencumbered and preferred it that way.

Michael Dalton had two mantras: Those who retire die; he who travels fastest travels alone. These thoughts were on his mind as he strode out onto the terrace of the hotel and glanced around. Only two tables were taken. In one corner there was a young blonde woman, in the other the man he had come to meet.

As he reached the table, put his hand on the man’s shoulder, he received the response he fully expected, ‘Take a gander at the other table, Michael. I’ve not seen such a beautiful blonde for centuries.’

Michael laughed and sat down. ‘You never change, Charlie; you’ve always got one eye on a girl, even when you’re doing business.’

Charles Anthony Gordon, who ran a private bank in London, laughed with Michael, and asked, ‘What are you drinking? Not the usual Coca-Cola, I hope?’

‘No. I’ll have tea instead.’

‘Guess what? I’ll have the same. It’s a bit too early for booze. So how do you feel now that you’ve broken off the engagement?’

‘Relieved. I was just thinking that as I came out onto the terrace. I was also reminding myself that when a man retires he dies.’

‘I expect that’s a dig at me, old chap, but guess what? I think I’m going to change my mind.’

‘You’re not going to retire after all?’ Michael sounded surprised. He stared at his old friend, who had not yet reached retirement age. ‘I hope you mean it, Charlie!’

‘I do. Scout’s honour and all that stuff. You’re looking pleased.’

‘I’m thrilled. How come you changed your mind? You were so adamant when I was in London two weeks ago.’

‘I know I was, and I did mean it. But I got talked out of it by our Scottish friend. He made good sense.’

Michael beckoned to a waiter, ordered English breakfast tea, one with milk, the other with lemon, and, once alone again with Charlie he added, ‘I’m glad Alistair did a number on you. I can’t tell you how essential you are to us. But then you know that.’

‘I do, I suppose. Which is why I changed my mind. Got to do one’s duty, protect the lands of the free and the brave.’

Michael leaned across the table. ‘I’m glad I didn’t bring a farewell gift for you.’

‘Yes, it would have been a waste of money.’ Charlie placed a cigarette lighter on the table and a packet of cigarettes. ‘I know you like a smoke now and again – have one of mine, Michael. It’s your favourite brand.’

‘Thanks, I will.’ Michael took out a cigarette, put it in his mouth and brought the lighter to it. ‘It’s in the packet, correct?’

‘You’ve got it right.’

After taking several puffs of the cigarette, Michael stuck it in the ashtray to burn away, picked up the packet of cigarettes and put it in his jacket. He then pushed the lighter across to Charlie, who slipped it in his trouser pocket.

‘I’ve got bad news, I’m afraid,’ Michael now announced, focusing all of his attention on the Englishman. ‘Those birds we spoke about when I was in London, I’m afraid they may be delivered to someone else.’

‘The pheasants?’ Charlie raised a brow. ‘Damn and blast, and we were promised that wouldn’t happen.’

‘C’est la vie,’ Michael murmured, as he grimaced and shook his head. ‘Some people are untrustworthy.’

‘Any chance of a diversion?’ Charlie asked.

‘I’m working on it. That, or perhaps extinction. I do believe those pheasants in particular have to be off the market… permanently.’ When Charlie didn’t respond, Michael exclaimed, ‘If you can tear your eyes away from the blonde, I have a bit more news for you.’

‘Oh, sorry. I couldn’t help admiring her when she stood up. Quite the leggy colt, isn’t she?’

Michael simply smiled, and said sotto voce, ‘Stay close to our contact, make sure he understands we’re now all behind him.’

‘I will.’

The waiter arrived with the large pot of tea, and Charlie turned to Michael. ‘Will you be coming to London in early June? If so, I’d like you to be my guest at Wimbledon.’

‘No, I don’t think I will be there then,’ Michael answered, ‘but thanks for the invitation.’

The two men walked through the gardens of the hotel, heading in the direction of the marble Çiragan Palace, a rococo building which had been in ruins for years until it became part of the new hotel. Now it had sumptuous suites, private rooms for special events, and a traditional Turkish restaurant, yet it had not lost any of its nineteenth-century charm.

Michael Dalton and Charles Gordon had been associates and friends for many years. Michael knew that underneath that English ‘old school tie’ exterior Charles presented to the world was a man of integrity, steely determination and dependability. He ran the bank his grandfather had started in 1903, and which his father had brought to prominence; Charles, a financial genius, had only made it more prosperous than ever over the last twenty-five years. He was now fifty-nine, but looked so much younger.

The bank was a client of Dalton Incorporated, and Michael’s company handled all security matters for the bank and its top-level personnel. Charles and Michael had developed a special relationship over the last seven years, and exchanged a great deal of vital information about many other things, not always to do with the bank. Rather, these matters related to events that affected and often changed international politics. And so affected the financial world.

Now that they were entirely alone in the gardens, Michael turned to Charles, ‘Have you just given me some names?’

‘Yes, of three men. You’ll find a little strip of paper underneath the cigarettes. They could become dangerous men. Although not everyone knows that. You must keep them in your sights at all times.’

‘Enough said.’ Michael immediately changed the subject, and asked, ‘How long are you staying in Istanbul?’

‘Five days, I’m here with my wife and two of our kids, Randolph and Agnes. I think you’ve met them. It’s a nice weekend break for me, and gives me a chance to spend time with the family. I’m glad our trips coincided. How long are you staying?’

‘I’m not sure. I’m here to see several top clients, so probably a week, then I have to go back to Paris for a few days. I just took on a new client there, who’s become extremely security conscious of late.’

‘A lot of people have since nine/eleven, and I can’t say I blame them. It’s a dangerous world.’ Charlie grimaced, added, ‘Why am I telling you that? If anyone knows what it’s like out there, it’s you.’