The Light of the Day - Eric Ambler [28]
“Now tell me everything you remember about this man Harper,” he said.
I started to tell him the whole story again from the beginning, but he wanted details now.
“You say that he spoke like a German who has lived in America for some years. When did you reach that conclusion? After you heard him speak German to the man at the garage?”
“No. Hearing him speak German only confirmed the impression I had had.”
“If you were to hear me speak German fluently could you tell whether it was my mother tongue or not?”
“No.”
“How did he pronounce the English word ‘later,’ for example?”
I tried to tell him.
“You know, the German ‘l’ is more frontal than that,” he said; “but in Turkish, before certain vowels, the ‘l’ is like the English consonant you were pronouncing. If you were told that this man had a Turkish background, would you disbelieve it?”
“Not if I were told it was true perhaps. But is Harper a Turkish name?”
“Is it a German one?”
“It could be an anglicization of Hipper.”
“It could also be an anglicization of Harbak.” He shrugged. “It could also be an alias. It most probably is. All I am trying to discover is if the man could be Turkish.”
“Because of the political aspects you mentioned?”
“Obviously. Tear-gas grenades, concussion grenades, smoke grenades, six pistols, six times twenty rounds of ammunition. Six determined men equipped with that material making a surprise attack on some important person or group of persons could accomplish a great deal. There are still many supporters of the former regime. They do not like the army’s firm hands.”
I refrained from telling him that I wasn’t so very fond of those firm hands myself.
“But, of course,” he went on, “we keep our eyes on them. If they wished to attempt anything they would need help from outside. You say he had Swiss francs and West German marks as well as dollars?”
“Yes.”
“Naturally it is possible that what we have here is only one small corner of a much larger plan. If so, there is a lot of money behind it. This man Harper went to a great deal of trouble and expense to get that material through. Perhaps …”
The telephone rang and he broke off to answer it. His call to Istanbul had come through. I understood about one word in ten of his side of the conversation. He was reporting to his boss; that much was easily gathered. My name was mentioned several times. After that he mostly listened, just putting in an occasional evet to show that he was getting the point. I could hear the faint quacking of the voice at the other end of the line. Finally it stopped. Tufan asked a question and received a brief reply. That was all. Tufan made a respectful sound, then hung up and looked across at me.
“Bad news for you, Simpson,” he said. “The Director does not feel disposed to help you in any way. He regards the charges against you as too serious.”
“I’m sorry.” There seemed nothing more to say. I downed another raki to try to settle my stomach.
“He considers that you have not been sufficiently helpful to us. I was unable to persuade him.”
“I’ve told you everything I know.”
“It is not enough. What we need to know is more about this man Harper, who his associates and contacts are, who this Fräulein Lipp is, where the arms and ammunition are going, how they are to be used. If you could supply that information or help to supply it, of course, your case might be reconsidered.”
“The only way I could possibly get information like that would be to drive on to Istanbul tomorrow as if nothing had happened, go to the Park Hotel, and wait for somebody to contact me as arranged. Is that what you’re telling me I have to do?”
He sat down facing me. “It is what we might tell you to do, if we thought that we could trust you. My Director is doubtful. Naturally, he is thinking of your past record.”
“What has that