“I saw Malik turn off the television because you went very pale,” Mr. Aslan continued, sitting on the edge of the table, arms crossed. “That man, this Volkov fellow… He’s been causing a lot of trouble on the Atlantic routes. Friends of mine who work in the import offices at the port of Ambarlı, here in Istanbul, have told me that their intermediaries have been asking strange questions in recent weeks. Questions about records of cargo ships that arrived from North America a month ago. They’re looking for something. Or someone."
I froze, unable to move a muscle. Panic, that old, sticky enemy, tried to rise again in my throat. I remembered the bus routes written on my boot.
“And have your friends… given them any answers?” I asked in a voice I managed to keep incredibly neutral, almost profe
