The Istanbul Puzzle Read Free

had opened somewhere and a breeze had begun blowing.
    ‘In that case, Mr Ryan, we’ll have to ask you to come to Istanbul to identify Mr Zegliwski’s body. I believe the authorities here have some questions about the project he was working on too.’
    I didn’t reply.
    ‘Are you there, Mr Ryan?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘When can you come out? The earlier the better, really.’ His tone wasn’t soft any more.
    The line between us hummed. I took my mobile out of my pocket, scrolled to Alek’s number, tapped it. I had a phone to each ear now. Maybe, just maybe, this was all some stupid mistake. A joke even.
    ‘This is too crazy,’ I said, buying time. ‘Do you know what happened to him?’
    My mobile beeped. I looked at the screen. Alek’s number was unavailable.
    ‘We’re not sure. The Turkish authorities are investigating. That’s all I can say for now.’ The line fizzed. ‘Oh, and I spoke to your colleague, Dr Beresford-Ellis.’
    The conversation had turned a surreal corner.
    ‘I know you’re aware of the current sensitivities with our Turkish friends. So you’ll understand why we want to get all this done as quickly as possible.’
    ‘I’ll be on the first flight I can get a seat on.’ My voice was firm. The truth was, he couldn’t have stopped me going to Istanbul.
    He coughed. ‘Very good. Now finally, and I am sorry, but I must ask you this: Was Mr Zegliwski involved in anything political or religious, or anything like that?’
    ‘No, not really. Nothing you wouldn’t hear in any pub in England.’
    I could hear the line between London and Istanbul hiss again as Fitzgerald waited for me to add to my answer. But I didn’t want to say any more. I had nothing to hide. Alek had nothing to hide as far as I knew. But would there be consequences if I repeated every crazy opinion he’d ever expressed?
    ‘What work does the Institute do, sir? I haven’t heard about you.’
    I could imagine my interrogator’s eyebrows shooting up as he asked me that question.
    ‘We apply advanced research to practical problems. Imaging technology is one area we’ve been working on, technology to find criminals in crowds for instance.’ It was the standard description I’d been using for years whenever anyone asked me what the Institute did.
    ‘Very good, sir.’ He didn’t sound interested. ‘I’ll tell our people you’re on your way. You’ll be met at Istanbul airport by someone from the Consulate. We’ll know which flight you’re on. The Turks will do the identification formalities on Monday, most likely. And please, do ring the Foreign Office emergency helpline to verify this conversation. The UK number is on our website. Goodbye, Mr Ryan. I’m very sorry for your loss.’
    The line went dead.
    I held the handset tight. My knuckles were porcelain white. A picture of Alek grinning outside Hagia Sophia, which he’d emailed me only the day before, came to me. He’d looked so happy. What the hell had happened? My hand trembled as I called his landline in Oxford. I was still hoping that somehow it was all a mistake.
    His answering machine took the call. I hung up.
    This couldn’t have anything to do with our work at the Institute, could it? Alek had helped us win the project he was working on in Istanbul. It was a real opportunity to establish our credentials in that part of the world. But I’d allowed him to go out there on his own. My stomach turned.
    ‘How complicated do you think taking photos is?’ he’d argued at the time.
    I stabbed my fist into the mattress.
    What was going to happen?
    Beresford-Ellis would lap all this up. His appointment as Director of the Institute last year had been a not-too-subtle attempt to sideline me totally. It wasn’t enough that I was demoted for the stunt I’d pulled in Afghanistan. The other founders of the Institute had demanded I relinquish, temporarily, many of my responsibilities, for my own good.
    And I’d agreed, reluctantly. So the last thing I needed now was