"BARs are dug in to cover our withdrawal, sir," Cooper said.

"Good." Butler turned to their Turkish guide. "Suleyman, stay here with the gunners."

"Efendim? Hayir. I fight beside you." He held up his Thompson.

"Are you tired of Stamboul, Suleyman, to risk your life?"

"Dawn will find us back in the city, inshalla."

Butler nodded in the darkness, his nerves tightening as he waited. After what seemed hours, he heard a whisper of sound and a Marine private dropped beside him.

"Barbed fence halfway between the base of the hill and the huts. Fifty yards of cleared ground between the fence and guard posts at the edge of the camp. Bunkers every one hundred yards. Turks had pickets out at the base of the hill. They don't now."

"Move out, Sergeant. Let's sink that sub."

Ten miles north of Constantinople, John Pershing's launch bumped against a low seawall set between a European-style mansion and the Bosporus. He stepped from the rocking boat onto the landing of the compact, classically styled summer home of a merchant or diplomat from Pera. The front door of the building opened as the engine died. A man's voice, speaking in French, said, "General Pershing, welcome to Anatolia. May we find peace tonight."

Not waiting for his aide, Pershing stepped into the light streaming from the building and answered in the same language, "Thank you, Kemal Pasha. Between us, we shall."

Pershing followed Mustafa Kemal down the entrance hall into a large drawing room. The Turkish leader was a slight man, wearing a gray military tunic and jodhpurs. Unlike his photographs, the Turk's rectangular face was clean-shaven. His steel-gray eyes studied the American as Mustafa Kemal shook hands with Pershing. "I am sorry Governor Fall would not meet with me."