“I write theses and term papers for students. They turn them in as their own work. Occasionally I take examinations for them as well-at Columbia or New York University.”

“Is this allowed?”

“No.”

“I see. You help them cheat?”

“I help them compensate for their personal inadequacies.”

“There is a name for this profession? It is a recognized profession?”

The hell with him, I decided. The hell with him and his questions and his rotten jail. “I’m called a stentaphator,” I explained. He had me spell it and he wrote it down very carefully. “Stentaphators are subsidiary scholars concerned with suasion and ambidexterity.”

He didn’t know trauma; I was fairly sure suasion and ambidexterity would ring no bells, and I guessed he wouldn’t ask for definitions. His English was excellent, his accent only slight. The only weapon in my arsenal was double-talk.

He lit still another cigarette-the man was going to smoke himself sick-and narrowed his eyes at me. “Why are you in Turkey, Mr. Tanner?”

“I’m a tourist.”

“Don’t be absurd. You’ve never left the United States since Korea, according to Washington. You applied for a passport less than three months ago. You came at once to Istanbul. Why?”

I hesitated.

“For whom are you spying, Mr. Tanner? The CIA? One of your little organizations? Tell me.”

“I’m not spying at all.”

“Then why are you here?”

I hesitated. Then I said, “There is a man in Antakya who makes counterfeit gold coins. He’s noted for his counterfeit Armenian pieces, but he does other work as well. Marvelous work. According to Turkish law, he’s able to do this with impunity. He never counterfeits Turkish coins, so it’s all perfectly legal.”

“Continue.”

“I plan to see him, buy an assortment of coins, smuggle them back into the United States, and sell them as genuine.”

“It is a violation of Turkish law to remove antiquities from the country.”