I Spy (14 page)

“You let me go!” Trey yelled, kicking out blindly. “GET ME OUT OF HERE!”

“
Sei ruhig, Junge –
be quiet, boy!” said a harsh voice, as hands gripped Trey painfully tight and held him down. “It will hurt so very much more if I have to
make
you do as I say. Stanislaus, get the case, please.”

Trey heard footsteps walk away, now completely sure the men who had grabbed him were German (they sounded just like the Grünestadts, who owned the shoe store his mother took him to), but no
nearer working out why they’d done it. As the seconds ticked by the man who’d spoken continued holding him down with an uncomfortably iron grip, and then he heard the other person
returning and the sound of latches unsnapping and hinges creaking. Without warning Trey felt himself being rolled sideways out of the car’s trunk and into something else; he had no idea what
it was, except that it was even smaller and more cramped than where he’d been. Then the hinges creaked, everything went dark again and the latches snapped shut.

He was in some kind of case!

He was in some kind of case that was being lifted and carried off...but where to? Were they going to throw him in the water and get rid of him? The thought that he might be moments from drowning
made panic rise in him like heat from a flame and as Trey began to struggle the case was put down.

“I rarely warn people twice,
junge
Herr MacIntyre.” The man’s voice was muffled by the case. “I recommend you stay calm, and this part of your journey will all
very soon be over.”

Stay calm! Trey could hardly believe his ears! Here he was, tied up like Houdini – locked in a
box
! – and he was supposed to stay
calm
?

“I shall take your silence as an agreement that you will make no more trouble.”

Somehow the man did not sound to Trey like he was about to dump him in the Bosphorus, so he decided to keep his mouth shut. For now. The men grunted and the case was lifted up again, and he
could hear that they were much nearer the water. And then he became aware that something had changed and they weren’t on solid ground any more...the case he was in was jerkily swinging to and
fro, the water sounding
very
near now. Where the heck were they taking him? A boat? That had to be it... but a boat that was going to take him exactly where?

Before he could take the thought any further, Trey heard a lot more grunting and he could tell, just knew, that he was being manhandled
into
something, rather than
onto
a boat. The
case he’d been stuffed in was roughly dropped. For a moment there was silence, and then he heard the muffled sound of a loud, harsh coughing. He knew that sound! He knew he’d heard it
very recently, but where?

And then it came to him: Venice.

It was the noise of a rotary-engined plane firing up. That was it! He’d been dumped, like a piece of luggage, on a seaplane that was about to take off, taking him with it – this was
not
how he’d imagined his first flight! So much for helping get his father back, he thought to himself as the engine roared into life and the plane began to move...

I
t was early evening when the black Citroën B12 pulled up outside a rather grand house, lights burning in most of the windows. It had taken a
lot
longer than Evren had thought it would to find the right Ahmet, the only one who could help him put his plan into action.

“This is the place, where I bring the young Mr. Trey,” Ahmet said over his shoulder.

“I think it would be good...much better, I think...if you came with us.” Now they were actually
at
their destination, Evren could see there were almost as many holes in this
“plan” as there were in his mother’s tea-strainer.

“
Us?
” hissed Neyla. “
Me?
”

“But I...”

“I will come with you.” Ahmet opened his door and got out of the car. “I had the feeling something was not right when I went to pick up Mr. Macktire this morning; they told me
at the hotel that he was suddenly not there any longer. Trey had told me a man had been there with a gun. And now
you
tell me about what happened to
him
, and I think it’s true
that he
and
his father are now both in trouble. We should tell these people.” He nodded towards the house. “The
effendi
must know them well to bring his son
here.”

Evren shot Neyla a glance, inwardly sighing with relief as he stepped down onto the pavement. He actually didn’t blame her for being scared about going up to the house; the idea of
standing there on his own when the door opened – of trying to explain, in his bad English, what had happened – made him feel the size of an ant. He knew all about how rich foreigners
(rich Turkish people, for that matter) looked down at those they thought were beneath them.

Rather than be left behind on her own in the car, Neyla followed Evren, but stayed at the bottom of the steps, watching Ahmet use the polished brass bell-pull. Somewhere inside the house they
could hear a muffled ringing, and they waited. And waited. And just as Ahmet was about to ring the bell again the door finally opened.

“May I be of assistance?” The words were out of the butler’s mouth before he’d fully taken in that he was addressing what appeared to be someone’s driver, who was
accompanied by one...no, two slightly untidy children. He cleared his throat. “Are you quite sure that you have the
correct
residence?”

“This is Stanhope-Leigh, yes?” enquired Ahmet politely.

“Quite so...” the butler began to shut the door. “But I’m sure we have no need for whatever it is that you are selling.”

“Not sell,” Ahmet’s foot shot out and blocked the door. “This about Mr. Macktire.”

“And Trey,” added Evren. “There is trouble!”

“I really am
very
sorry, but Mr. and Mrs. Stanhope-Leigh are out at present and as far as I know you will find Mr. MacIntyre, and his son, at the Pera Palas Hotel.
Not
here.” The butler forcefully moved to close the door, only to find it, equally forcefully, being pushed back. “Now look
here
, my good man!”

“Simpson?” asked a rather delicate voice from behind the butler. “Did I hear someone talking about Trey?”

“I think it best that you let me deal with the situation, Miss Christina.”

“If you don’t mind, Simpson, I would like to know what this is about...I heard someone say there was trouble. Now if you’ll just let me through...”

The butler hesitated for a couple of seconds, then begrudgingly moved a step or two to the side to reveal a girl with a fountain of blonde curls, backlit into a froth by the lights behind her;
Evren knew that this must be the sister Trey had told him about.

“Hello, Miss...” Ahmet, smiling broadly, bowed slightly as he tipped his hat. “Myself I am Ahmet, I am work for Mr. Macktire, and this is Evren, the friend of Trey. Most kindly
of you to see us...”

“You’re Trey’s driver, aren’t you – what’s happened to him? All Papa said was that he wasn’t coming here today. Did you say there’d been some
trouble?” Christina glanced at Evren as she spoke, then noticed someone else down at the bottom of the steps. Neyla quickly stepped into the shadows.

“Very much trouble, I am frightened to say, Miss.” Ahmet shrugged dramatically. “Trey have somehow disappeared in a mystery circumstance.”

“Trey disappeared! But how...”

“
‘Mysterious circumstances’ –
what’s Trey got up to, Tina?” An older boy materialized at Christina’s side and scrutinized Evren and Ahmet.

“I do
wish
you wouldn’t call me ‘Tina’. You know I hate it so...”

The boy, who, thought Evren, could only be Arthur, ignored his sister and walked out onto the wide top step. “It’s fine, Simpson,” he said over his shoulder. “You can
leave this to me to deal with; I’ll make sure they’re sent on their way.”

The boy sounded stern, but for some reason Evren couldn’t work out he was grinning and winking at Ahmet and him as he spoke.

“Ooh,
Arthur
!” Christina’s eyes widened and her lips puckered in shock. “How rude!”

Arthur turned round. “Thank you, Simpson, that will be all. I’ll tell my parents about this when they return.”

The butler sniffed and looked as if he’d smelled a blocked drain. “Very well, Master Arthur. If you insist...”

Arthur looked back at Evren and Ahmet and winked again. “I most certainly do...”

Except for the fact that it was pretty obvious he hadn’t actually wanted to bring his sister with him, Arthur’s plan – which Evren had to admit was a pretty
good one – seemed to have worked perfectly. Following Arthur’s instructions, Ahmet had driven his taxi round behind the house and parked out of sight. Ten minutes after the butler had
been dismissed, Arthur and Christina had crept out of a side entrance and joined them in the cab; five minutes after that Arthur and Christina had been told everything that Ahmet, Evren and Neyla
knew (which was not, they had to admit, very much at all).

“So, Trey saw his father throw some ruffian with a gun out of their suite, and the next thing you know his father has disappeared?” Arthur looked at Ahmet, who smiled in
agreement.

“And then Trey is chased by the same people, but escapes and you,” Christina butted in, pointing at Evren, “find him and take him back to
your
house –” Evren
nodded – “where he discovers that his father is the dead spit of some
other
person, who’s probably a spy. And then, out of the blue,
Trey
gets kidnapped and thrown
into the boot of car. Have I got all that right?”

There was a moment’s stunned silence in the car and everyone looked at Christina.

“A girl
can
pay attention you know, Arthur.”

“I think that is completely all the story that we know, Miss Christina.” Ahmet’s shoulders rose and fell expressively. “Do you think your father can be the assistant in
finding the Macktires?”

“I don’t see how,” Christina shook her head, “but we can ask.”

“Well
I
think you chaps have come to
exactly
the right place! Pater is
supposed
to be the Trade Secretary here, but that’s not
actually
what he
does.”

“What he does do?” Evren frowned.

“He runs the British Government’s Military Intelligence section...he’s the head of MI6’s Constantinople bureau.”

“Ooh, Arthur!” Christina, sitting on the back seat next to Neyla, shot forward. “You can’t
possibly
know that, Arthur!”

“I jolly well can!”

“Your father is spy also?” Ahmet looked at Evren, who leaned over and muttered a quick translation to Neyla.

“In a manner of speaking,” Arthur agreed.

“That is ‘yes’? Or maybe is ‘no’?” enquired Ahmet.

“How can you call Papa a
spy
, Arthur?”

“It’s just a
name
, Tina. And everyone does it, specially here in Constantinople – I’ve heard Pater say spying is like a national pastime on the
Continent.”

“But how could you
know
?”

“Um, well... You see, I’ve been sort of, how shall I say, spying on
him
...”

“Oh
Arthur
, how
could
you!”

It was Arthur’s turn to shrug and a hush fell inside the taxi, no one quite sure what to say next. Evren broke the awkward silence by reaching into his pocket and bringing out a sheaf of
small photographic prints.

“I have picture,” he said to nobody in particular.

“Who of?” asked Arthur.

“Some people.” Evren flicked through the snapshots. “I have Trey’s father...”

Arthur reached over and took the top print, flicking on his torch to look at it properly. “
That’s
Trey’s father?”

Evren shook his head. “That the man who
look
like Trey father,” he held out a second print. “
This
Trey father.”

Arthur took it and examined the two pictures together. “Crikey...they look like peas in a pod!”

“Is true, but my father think this one,” Evren pointed to the picture of the man in the pinstripe suit, “is maybe from the Germany.”

“Well I’d say your father is jolly well right!”

“How you know this thing?”

“Because I’ve seen him before...there was a big party at the British Consulate.” Arthur gave the pictures back to Evren. “I remember, he was with the German
chargé d’affaires
and a military attaché.”

“Are you making all this up, Arthur, just showing off again?” Christina looked at the others. “He shows off
all
the time, you know. Trying to prove how
awfully
clever he is.”

“I do
not
! I know because I got bored at the party, and, instead of just wasting my time simpering with my silly friends, like
someone
I could mention,
I
got hold of
the invitation list and went round finding out who all the guests were. And I remember
that
man, the one who looks like Trey’s pater, because one of the people he was with had duelling
scars on his left cheek...and they all spoke German.”

“What he called?” asked Ahmet. “What he do?”

“Um...I can’t remember exactly – but I kept the list, it’s in a file up in my room.”

“Oh
really
, Arthur...”

“Yes, really,
Tina
.” Arthur opened the taxi door and jumped out. “I shall be back in a jiffy...”

T
rey looked round the room in the fading light. He felt a weird combination of puzzled, angry and scared and couldn’t stop anxiously pacing
up and down as he tried to figure out what the heck was going on. There were so
many
things he didn’t know – like, was his father also in this place he’d been brought to?
– that the more he thought about everything the more edgy and confused he became.

But there was one dark, distressing question in particular that kept on coming back, no matter how hard he tried to push it away. It crept up like a nasty, evil worm and it whispered to him
quietly and insistently: what if, somehow, for whatever inexplicable reason, his father
was
the man in both photographs?
What then?