Dear Dr Ashe,
With respect to your enquiry concerning the incident at the Masonic Lodge, Kartal District. Further enquiries with the secretary of the Lodge show that the person you referred to did not attend the Lodge as a guest on the evening concerned, and is therefore irrelevant to enquiries.
For your further information, the invitation from the Lodge was issued in response to an enquiry from a man described as ‘a Kurdish doctor of medicine’ and known to a member of the Masonic Lodge. It was the belief of this doctor that the person who did not attend possessed knowledge concerning the origins of Freemasonry in the East. The Lodge was looking forward to an historical talk from the guest, a normal occurrence at Lodge meetings in Turkey. However, the talk did not take place, on account of the reason given above. Turkish authorities find no reason to investigate this matter further and are not authorised to provide additional assistance regarding internal Turkish affairs.
The letter was not signed, but the postmark was Ankara – the seat of the Turkish government. Since his journey with Jolo, Toby knew that a Sheykh was a Yezidi spiritual leader – and ‘Baba’ meant ‘father’, so he guessed this Baba Sheykh must be important. But that didn’t explain why he was invited to the Lodge in the first place – or why he had then not turned up. And who was the Kurdish doctor?
*
‘Call for you on red, Toby.’
‘Who is it, Karla?’
‘It’s me, Dr Ashe.’ The deep, burnished timbre and tobacco-rasped tones could belong to only one man: Ranald Crayke. ‘Settling in all right, Ashe? I hear you don’t care too much for your new facility.’
‘A few pictures on the wall and it’ll be like home.’
‘Not meant to be like home, Ashe. I read a most illuminating report from Major Richmond. You did the service credit. And paid your office dues. Value it.’
‘Thank you very much, sir.’
‘No, Ashe. Thank you. Men of your calibre make my job not only possible, but infinitely worthwhile. How did you like the princess?’
‘Laila, sir?’
‘I dare say you will be on first-name terms with her. I should never have dared.’
‘You know her, sir?’
‘A most remarkable family, Ashe. The Yezidis are a remarkable people. I’ve been studying the Yezidi religion for many years. Did you know Lady Drower?’
‘Afraid not, sir.’
‘Very special lady, Lady Drower. You were following in her footsteps. Ethel Stefana Drower went to Lalish with a British officer in 1940. Dark times for civilisation. She came back to London and wrote a book about her experience. The British officer happened to be my father. I was a very young man when Lady Drower’s book first appeared on my desk. Soon it will be landing on yours. I’m also sending you some of my own personal papers – the product of many years’ research in the Near East. You will see soon enough how they chime with your investigations. Show them to nobody. Discuss them with nobody.’
‘Nobody, sir.’
‘Nobody, Ashe. Not even me. At least for the time being. But cheer up! It’s not going to be all reading. There are people you are going to meet. Old friends of mine.’
‘Right, sir.’
‘I have waited a long time for one such as you, Ashe. I don’t intend to let you waste yourself on futile investigations. Or, for that matter, futile board meetings or so-called team-work, which all too often means less-work. Mrs Lindars may deputise for you. And by the way, Ashe, you will be interested to know that Hafiz Razak is once more on the run.’
‘What happ—’
‘Another suicide attack. With extras. They hit the US interrogation centre in Mosul. Messy business. Security’s busted. Razak must be extremely valuable to our enemies for them to save him from interrogation like that. At least the Americans can’t blame Major Richmond.’
‘And all that work!’
‘Not entirely wasted, Ashe. I believe Razak was able to impart something to Richmond and yourself that is unknown to our American friends. I trust you may find it useful in a friendly exchange with our cousins Stateside, for they surely know things that we do not. And we should not deny one another the things we need, should we? Good luck!’
Ashe stared at the blank notepaper in front of him. His pencil was sharp, but he had written nothing. When Ranald Crayke was speaking, you listened.