Chapter Eight
Attaboy
Vivi’s driver took us to a boat dock in the Sirkeci district, where we boarded a sleek motor yacht with a glistening mahogany deck and freshly polished brass fittings. Suspiciously, I thought, its captain was dressed in crisp paramilitary fatigues rather than the casual clothes you’d associate with a civilian yachtie. At least he wasn’t wearing a firearm, that I could see.
Although she didn’t exchange a word with him, he apparently had his orders and knew exactly where to take us. We sailed north on the Bosphorus in the direction of the Black Sea and put in at a private dock on the north bank, just opposite Akbaba, if you’re curious enough to consult a map.
At the dock, the captain cast lines to two waiting supernumeraries, who tied up and then gestured to help me
