a single uniformed Turk to run routine security checks on vehicles approaching the building, the Americans deployed a small platoon of buzz-cut, flak-jacketed Marine Corps, most of them hidden behind tungsten-strengthened security gates designed to withstand the impact of a two-ton bomb. You couldn’t blame the Yanks for laying things on a bit thick; every wannabe jihadi from Grosvenor Square to Manila wanted to take a pop at Uncle Sam. Nevertheless, the atmosphere around the Embassy was so tense that, as he pulled up in a rattling Ankaran taxi, Kell felt as though he was back in the Green Zone in Baghdad.
After fifteen minutes of checks, questions and pat-downs, he was shown into an office on the first floor with a view on to a garden in which somebody had erected a wooden climbing frame. There were various certificates on the walls, two watercolours, a photograph of Barack Obama and a shelf of paperback books. This, Kell was told, was where Jim Chater would meet him. The choice of venue immediately raised Kell’s suspicions. Any discussion between a cadre CIA officer and a colleague from SIS should, as a matter of course, take place inside the CIA’s Station. Was Chater planning a blatant snub, or would they move to a Secure Speech room once he arrived?
The meeting was scheduled for ten o’clock. Twelve minutes had passed before there was a light knock on the door and a blonde woman in her late twenties entered wearing a trouser suit and a clip-on smile.
‘Mr Kell?’
Kell stood up and shook the woman’s hand. She introduced herself as Kathryn Moses and explained that she was an FP-04 State Department official, which Kell dimly recalled as an entry-level ranking. More likely she was CIA, an errand girl for Chater.
‘I’m afraid Jim’s running late,’ she said. ‘He’s asked me to step in. Can I get you a coffee, tea or something?’
Kell didn’t want to lose another five minutes of the hour-long meeting in beverage preparation. He said no.
‘Any idea what time he’ll be here?’
It was then that he realized Ms Moses had been sent deliberately to stall him. Settling into a revolving chair behind the desk, she gave Kell a brief, appraising glance, adjusted the sleeves of her jacket, then spoke to him as though he was a Liberal Democrat minister visiting Turkey on a two-day fact-finding tour.
‘Jim has asked me to give you an overview of how we see things right now developing locally and in the Syrian–Iranian theatre, particularly with reference to the regime in Damascus.’
‘OK.’ It turned out to be a mistake to imply consent, because Moses now cleared her throat and didn’t draw breath until the clock on the office wall had moved to within a few second-hand clicks of half-past ten. There was background on the State Department decisions to move the Istanbul Consulate out of town and to share an airbase with the Turks at Incirlik. Moses had views on the ‘contradictory’ relationship with Prime Minister Tayyip Erdoğan and was pleased that the ‘shaky period’ in the run-up to the invasion of Iraq – a veiled reference to Turkey’s refusal to cooperate with the Bush administration – was now a thing of the past. In the view of the Obama administration, she said, the Turkish leadership had come to the realization that membership of the EU was no longer a viable goal, nor was it particularly in the country’s interests. Indeed, despite accepting seven billion euros in aid from the EU over a period of ten years, Mr Erdoğan wanted ‘to turn Turkey’s face to the south and to the east’, establishing himself as ‘a benign Islamic Calvinist’ – not a phrase coined by Kathryn Moses – with Turkey as ‘a beacon for the rest of Muslim North Africa and the Middle East, a modern, functioning capitalist buffer state existing peaceably between East and West’.
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