“And I am.”

“You’re freelance. They won’t be expecting that. Not for him.”

“What’s he got, that you have to take him to Washington yourself?”

“Leon.”

“You owe me that much.”

Tommy looked at him for a minute, then downed the rest of his drink. “Lots,” he said finally, nodding. “Up here.” He touched his temple. “Also a very nice photo album.”

“Of?”

“Mother Russia. Aerial recon. The Germans photographed everything, when they still could. Valuable snaps now.”

“And he got these how?”

“That I couldn’t say. Fell off a truck, maybe. Things do. Want another?”

Leon shook his head. “I’d better go. Start being invisible. Here, finish this.”

“Well, since I’m paying-”

Leon stood up. “Some evening.”

“Tomorrow then. One more and you’re a free man.”

Leon looked at him, disconcerted by the phrase. “Who is he, Tommy?”

“He’ll answer to John.”

“As in Johann? German?”

“As in John Doe.” He glanced up. “No funny business, okay? Let Washington ask the questions. Just do your piece. There’ll be a bonus in it, if I can talk them into it.”

“I don’t care about that.”

“That’s right. Good of the country. Still. Think of it as-I don’t know, for old times’ sake.” He turned his head to the room.

“You coming?”

“I’ll just finish this. Give the place one last look. Goddam three-ring circus, wasn’t it?” he said, his voice drooping, like his eyes, maudlin.

Leon picked up his damp coat.

“By the way,” Tommy said, sharp again. “Separate pieces, but where the hell’s Laleli?”

“Past the university. Before you get to Aksaray.”

“Christ, who goes out there?”

“That’s the idea.”

It was still raining hard enough to get wet again and he was shivering when he got home.