Free Istanbul Express by T. Davis Bunn

threatened to lose its patience and invade.”
    The consulate’s cool marble entrance hall was no place for this pale gentleman and his quietly suffering voice and his story. Jake said, “You don’t have to tell me this.”
    â€œThe government issued a proclamation,” Daniel Levy continued in his soft voice, speaking to the opposite wall. “Male Jews over the age of eighteen were rounded up and taken to camps. The soldiers who came for us were most polite and regretful. I remember that one sergeant even saluted me as I stepped into the truck. I also remember how the lieutenant driving our truck told us to take a good look, because if the Germans came any closer to our borders we would not see our homes again.”
    Jake took in the words, the pallid features, the waxy long-fingered hands, the unkempt beard, the lost gaze. “And still you call this your country.”
    â€œSome are now leaving, those with relatives elsewhere, especially in America. Others are speaking of new beginnings in Israel. But my family has lived in Istanbul for almost five hundred years. We have lived in our home for seven generations. I, my father, his father before him, and his before that, all were married in the same synagogue.” Dark eyes turned with resigned sorrow to Jake. “Tell me, Mr. Burnes, if we were to leave, who would remain to keep our heritage alive?”
    â€œI understand,” Jake said. He planted his hands on his knees, asked, “Can you type?”
    â€œSome.” The man’s gaze was questioning. “Why?”
    Jake had heard enough. The emotion drawn from Daniel Levy’s responses was too raw for him to do more than stand, offer his hand, and ask, “Can you start tomorrow?”

Chapter Six
    â€œYou don’t waste time, do you?”
    Jake slid into the seat opposite Barry Edders’ cluttered desk. “I’m a little short of extra minutes.”
    â€œYeah I suppose that’s so.” Even first thing in the morning, the political officer’s cheery manner was solidly in place. “So you want me to talk with the CG, let him know you’d like to enlist our marines to your little effort.”
    â€œJust borrow them from time to time, is all.”
    â€œWell, I don’t have any problem with that. Don’t guess the CG will, either.” He shuffled through a haphazard pile of papers, came up with a relatively clean sheet, scribbled on one edge. “Anything else?”
    â€œYes, as a matter of fact.” Jake had spent much of the previous night planning this discussion. Keeping their talks to a minimum meant getting as much from each one as possible.
    â€œFigured there would be.” Barry sighed contentedly as he propped his shoes upon the desk’s corner. He sipped his coffee, waved the mug in Jake’s general direction. “Sure I can’t offer you some?”
    â€œI’m fine, thanks. I need—”
    â€œYou’ll learn soon enough never to pass up a chance for a decent cup,” Barry said, sliding down a bit further in the chair, getting himself truly comfortable. “The local stuff tastes like wet sand.”
    â€œI’ve had Arabic coffee before.” Jake cocked his head to one side. “Do you ever let anything bother you?”
    â€œUsed to.” Another sip, taking it slow, breathing in the steam, sighing at the flavor. Savoring the moment. “You see any action, Jake?”
    â€œYou mean, in the war? Some.”
    â€œMe, too. Philippines, Okinawa, Tinian. Political science professor one day, captain of infantry the next.” He tookanother contented sip, glancing back over his shoulder at the sunlight that streamed in through his floor-to-ceiling windows, said mildly, “There couldn’t have been, oh, more than a couple dozen times when I scraped through by the skin of my teeth.”
    â€œI know the feeling,” Jake said quietly. “All too