Istanbul by Colin Falconer Read Free Book Online Page A

Office won’t pay for more staff.’
    ‘I have a plan to stop Romanian oil getting through to Germany.’
    ‘We’ve been through this. Whitehall won’t sanction it now. The Ploesti fiasco has scared them off.’
    ‘Why don’t we use the Haganah, the Jewish defence forces? We smuggle them into the country and issue an equal number of visas for Jewish women and children who want to get out. The Haganah men remain behind as guerrilla fighters to sabotage the rail and river links up the Danube.’
    Abrams stared at him for a long time. It was a brilliant idea and Nick knew it. This way the Zionists got Jews out of Romania, and his own government could say they were not increasing the intake of immigrants into Palestine.
    ‘Is this your idea?’
    He nodded.
    ‘Hmm,’ Abrams said, which was high praise indeed if you knew Abrams. ‘What do you want to do?’
    ‘I want to go to Istanbul to speak to Ben-Arazi, the Zionist representative there.’
    ‘Very well. I’ll pass on a coded message to London.’
    Nick got up to leave. He paused at the door.
    ‘What about Clive Allen?’
    ‘That will be all,’ Abrams said and returned his attention to the paperwork in front of him.
     
     
     
    It was a bright day in autumn when the Germans came to Bucharest. Antonescu invited the Germans to send a military mission to Romania, though he hardly had a choice in the matter. An ‘alliance’ suited Romania better than invasion, and, besides, who else would save them from the depredations of the Russian army to the north? Every Romanian Nick spoke to told him that Hitler would help them reclaim Bessarabia and Bucovina, apparently forgetting that it was Hitler who supported Stalin’s claims to those territories just six months before.
    For the arrival of their new friends, the management of the Athenee Palace hung a swastika from the façade, the massive red and black flag cascading three storeys from the upper floors to the awnings over the main entrance.
    It seemed everyone in Bucharest had crowded into the lobby for the aperitif, the diplomats and oil men and journalists and, of course, the women in their fox furs. Squadrons of Messerschmitts and Heinkels whined low over the rooftops all morning. The tension was palpable.
    Nick joined Max in the lobby to watch the show.
    ‘How’s Daniela?’ Nick said.
    ‘Gone,’ Max said.
    ‘Gone? Gone where?’
    ‘Don’t know, old boy. Came home yesterday evening and there she was, not there. She left some money on the table for the food she’d eaten and a note saying thank you very much. There was this for you.’
    He handed Nick a letter.
    ‘Going to open it?’
    Max raised his glass and murmured ‘ Naroc ’. Nick ripped open the letter and read the few words she had written in French.
     
    Cher Nicholas, you have been so kind. But there are many things you do not know about me, and I cannot rely on your kindness, and the kindnesses of your friends, forever. I am going to stay for a while with some friends of my father. I am sure we will see each other again in the Athenee Palace. All Bucharest meets there, sooner or later. Thank you again, for saving my life, and for trying to help, monsieur blue eyes. Daniela.
     
    The first of the Mercedes saloons pulled up outside. There was a collective gasp as high-ranking Wehrmacht men flooded into the lobby, resplendent in stiff grey uniforms with red lacquered collars and red piping on their trousers, many wearing the Iron Cross first class.
    They gave full-blooded Nazi salutes to the German diplomats and Romanian army officers there to greet them. This was not the casual flick of the hand favoured by Gestapo men and even Hitler himself; these men were aristocrats and they clicked their heels together with a sound like a gun blast and shot their arms straight out in front of their eyes.
    Max turned to Nick and raised an eyebrow. ‘There goes the neighbourhood,’ he said.
    Neither of them laughed. They both knew that Romania was no longer