A tape-recorded muezzin echoed about the centre of Istanbul, summoning the faithful to evening prayers. Aslan released his rear-window button and called out a greeting to the corner street seller. ‘Merhaba!’
The green-shirted surly young street seller noticed Aslan’s suit and powerful car, and addressed him with the respectful honorific. ‘Bey Effendi?’
‘Simit!’
‘Ayran?’
‘Ali!’
Ali nodded and Aslan put up two fingers. The seller poured the drinks from a large aluminium jug. Behind him, a lady leant out of her third-floor apartment window and let down a basket on the end of a rope to be filled by a girl from the corner bakery.
‘Iyigünler!’
‘Salam Alukim!’
Aslan passed a sesame-seeded bread roll and a yoghurt drink to Ali in the front.
‘Hear what he said, Ali?’
‘What’s that?’
‘The street seller. When I said “Goodbye”, he said “Salam Alukim”. You can’t move for fundies these days!’
‘May not be fundamentalist, sir. Just old-fashioned.’
‘Sure, Ali. He’s very careful to say “Bey Effendi” when he sees the car, but the look in his eye tells you everything.’
‘What does it tell you, sir?’
‘It shows, young corporal, this arsehole wants God to avenge his poverty.’
‘And give him your car.’
‘My car, Ali? Goes with the job. Maybe one day it’ll be me selling simit on street corners! No, my friend, it’s not the car he wants. It’s the country.’
Aslan’s personal mobile rang. ‘Aslan here… Didn’t I make it clear? Never call me on this line without notice.’
Ashe, taken aback, stared at the white walls of the Shrivenham office. ‘Forgive me, Mahmut. But I expect your people know by now I’ve been on the trail of Yazar and Yildiz.’
‘What can I do for you, Dr Ashe? NATO, wasn’t it?’
‘Are you not free to talk?’
‘Oh yes, I’m free.’
‘Yildiz and Yazar got away. We were too late.’
‘Of course, Dr Ashe.’
‘Why d’you say that?’
‘Because I’m on my way to arrest them right now. Goodbye.’