Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 116, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 709 & 710, September/October 2000

Some of the spectators exchanged glances, but none raised their hands until Rand and Leila did. Then Omar followed suit, and one of the camel owners did so too. Rand recognized Jobar, the truck driver they’d passed on the road. The government police fanned out, one man coming to Leila and him, one to Omar, and one to the camel owner. The fourth officer walked over to speak with Sevret and his wife.

“You saw the accident?” the detective asked Rand, but it was Leila who answered.

“We saw the aftermath. The officer at the scene said it had been a car bomb with a timer.”

“That is correct. What are your names, please?”

“Jeffrey Rand. This is my wife, Leila.”

The detective nodded, taking a notebook from his coat pocket. “I am Captain Iznik. I believe I have a report on you, Mr. Rand. Were you not director of British Intelligence for a time?”

Rand smiled. “Hardly! I headed up the Concealed Communications unit, but that was several years ago.”

Iznik frowned and jotted something in his notebook. Rand wondered where the detective had obtained the information on him, but before he could ask, Iznik said, “We’ve established that the dead man, Rolf Thadder, had some sort of business to transact here today. He removed a quantity of money from the consulate safe before starting out yesterday morning. It’s not entirely clear whether the use of this money was authorized.”

“You mean he stole it.”

“He may have meant to return it, but the embassy reported the theft to the police and asked us to be on the lookout for him. One of his coworkers mentioned a Greek named Berk whom he’d been seen with recently.”

Berk. The name was familiar, but for a moment Rand couldn’t remember where he’d heard it before. Then it came to him. Berk was the man from the Greek consulate whom Sevret and his wife had been expecting, the one they’d feared might have been the victim of the car bombing. Apparently it hadn’t been Berk but a Norwegian named Thadder. But if that was the case, what had happened to Berk?

The police questioning was continuing in a low-key manner, but Rand could see the next set of camels being led into the makeshift arena. As they clashed, the roar from the spectators was so great that he didn’t catch Captain Iznik’s next words. “What was that?”

“I asked if you are here on official business.”

“I’m retired, Captain,” Rand told him again. “I have no connection with British Intelligence. Why should you think that I do?”

“This is a remote place to come for the dubious pleasures of a camel fight on a Sunday afternoon. Your arrival in Istanbul was noted yesterday. We keep an extensive file on foreign agents.”

“You’d better update it. My wife and I met Omar Goncah in Alexandria and he invited us to join him.”

“Mr. Goncah? Where is he?”

Rand glanced around. “He was here a few minutes ago. I believe one of your men may be questioning him.”

There was some excitement in the arena as one of the camels went down, apparently injured. Several of the spectators rushed forward and for a moment the fallen beast was the center of attention. It had been bitten on the leg when its opponent’s muzzle came undone. Rand looked around for Omar but couldn’t find him. His driver was up by the car, polishing its hood. Then Rand noticed one of the camel owners near the fence where Goncah’s prize carpet was on display. It was his good friend Mehmet, and Rand could have sworn the man took a quick photograph of the carpet with a tiny camera.

The police had concluded their questioning well before the final fight, but they fingered for some food and drink at Beth Sevret’s urging. She and her husband had been busy serving an elaborate variety of shish kebab to the spectators, passing the metal skewers to anyone with the purchase price. The government detectives, Rand noticed, ate for free.

“Is this the final battle?” Leila asked, making clear that she was growing tired of the violent spectacle.

“I hope so,” Rand agreed. “With all that padding it’s like watching sumo wrestlers.”

Mehmet led his camel into the arena, and the cheers were the loudest of the afternoon, growing even louder when the rival camel and its owner joined them. Rand recognized Jobar, the man whose truck they’d passed on the trip down from Istanbul. This was truly the main event the crowd had been anticipating. Turkish pounds changed hands at a rapid rate, often going to middlemen who served as bookmakers.

This fight lasted longer than the others, and it was obvious from the start that the camels were evenly matched. Both owners shouted encouragement, though it was doubtful the beasts could hear or recognize their masters’ voices over the roar of the crowd. “Stay here a moment,” Rand said to Leila.

“Where are you going?”

“I want to get closer to the action.”