The European Enigma (LSD, #9)

41. The Turkish Turkey

The Turkish Turkey

The BEEP on Rostov's phone indicated an urgent message: it could only be from Katja.

«Can you take care of dinner?»

Rostov grinned and replied: «Romantic dinner or dinner with friends?»

«Business dinner.»

Of course. His wife was working. He grinned. Dinner with Katja was always something to look forward to. «No problem.»

«See attached file. Your ticket waits for you at the International desk at the airport. Thanks. Kisses.»

Attached file? Ticket? What kind of dinner was this? Rostov opened the file and read: "For tonight's meeting between the PM of Luxembourg and the Secretary of State of the United States, considering the fact that today is Thanksgiving, a national holiday in the USA with a traditional turkey at the dinner table, and considering the fact that the best turkeys come from Turkey, from the farm of Hakan Turan (addressed at a small town near Istanbul), it's most important that 12 fresh turkeys are delivered today before 18:00 at the kitchen of the (address in Luxembourg)."

Nice. Rostov, head of the International Department of the First Bank of Moscow, was hired by his wife to become the European pizza delivery boy for the American Secretary and the Luxembourg Prime Minister. "A job is a job", a famous right-wing politician used to say. Being married to an agent of the Luxembourg Spy Department is a lot more than a job.

Rostov sent a message that he would be out of office for a meeting with a potential client (always an acceptable excuse) and took a taxi to the airport, where he was just in time for the flight to Istanbul. A few hours later, he took a Turkish taxi to Hakan Turan's farm.

"Good morning. Are you Mister Turan? I'm here to pick up the order of 12 fresh turkeys.", Rostov said.

Mister Turan was drinking tea: "It's teatime. Would you like a glass?"

Rostov checked his watch: "I'd love to, but I don't have the time. My flight to Luxembourg leaves in two hours and it will take me half an hour to get to the airport again in the taxi. So if you don't mind..."

Mister Turan sipped his hot, sweet tea: "12 turkeys? That's 1.200 liras. You need to pay in cash."

Rostov's diamond credit card with a US$ 25.000 limit instantly devaluated into a worthless piece of plastic: "Cash? Will rubles do?"

Mister Turan shook his head: "Turkish liras and nothing else. No euros, no dollars, no pounds, and most of all, no rubles. You can go to the bank and come back here with the money, if you like."

The taxi driver also raised his eyebrow: "No cash? No liras? How are you going to pay me?"

"How far is the nearest bank?", Rostov asked.

"Istanbul, near the airport.", the taxi driver answered.

"And how about me, taking the birds with me, right now, and you drive me to the airport, I take out the liras I need, plus a bit extra for the tip, and after that, you come back here to pay Mister Turan?", Rostov suggested.

Mister Turan objected: "No. No credit. You pay cash or you won't get any bird."

Rostov raised his hands and his head to the cloudless sky; what a country to do business with... There was no other option: he jumped into the taxi and asked the driver to go back to the airport. An hour later he returned, with lots of liras and lots of hurries. He put the money on the table and said: "Here you are, Mister Turan. 1.200 liras. Can you please give me the turkeys? My plane leaves in an hour..."

Mister Turan was on his coffee break. He pointed with his thumb to a place behind him: "Over there. You can get them yourself."

Rostov looked in the indicated direction: "In the house? In the freezer?"

"In the field. We don't do cold turkey around here. We got a lust for life. It's easy. It's like hypnotising chickens.", Mister Turan answered. He invited the taxi driver to a cup of fresh coffee. Don't expect any help here. Rostov took a deep breath. Being married to an LSD agent is a lot more than a job. He entered the field and strode towards the first turkey he saw. The turkey saw him too. Its sixth sense warned him: this tall man in his expensive suit was not here to play chicken with him. The big, black bird took off towards the other end of the field and advised its family to join him in the race. Rostov increased his speed to a jog, then to a run, to a sprint, and finally attempted to break the world record on the long jump, arms forward, aiming for the neck of the turkey. The turkey won. The expensive suit lost. Rostov looked at himself, head to toe covered in mud, but he didn't want to surrender too easily: "You want to play rough? Okay, we play rough." But his Italian shoes were not made for hiking or mud wrestling, the turkey played on his home ground, and after ten more minutes of desperate attempts, Rostov was still empty-handed. A thick layer of mud avoided the steam coming out of his ears.

He decided to go for help. He returned to the table in front of the house, where Mister Turan and the taxi driver were on the second round of the coffee break, and asked: "Can you please catch the birds for me? I'll pay you extra."

"How much extra?"

"I'll double the price." Rostov counted twelve more banknotes of 100 liras and put them on the table.

Mister Turan looked at them and shook his head: "Okay. As soon as my coffee break is over. In an hour or so."

"But... I have a plane to catch and it leaves... in about 45 minutes. It's a matter of national safety, no, of international importance, of world peace... Please, catch those birds for me."

Mister Turan looked at his customer: "You put your suit in the washing machine and you take a coffee with us. There's nothing more important than drinking coffee with your friends. If the international important people drank more coffee together and fight less, there would be fewer problems and no cases of international importance that threaten world peace."

Rostov had one last card left: "You don't understand. My wife asked me to do this. If I don't get home with twelve fresh turkeys..."

Mister Turan frowned. This was indeed a different matter; one doesn't argue with the wife. He asked: "Does she love you?"

The unusual question surprised Rostov: "Yes, she does."

Mister Turan took another cup, filled it with coffee and put it in front of Rostov on the table, while he said: "If she loves you, she'll forgive you. Kiss her when you come back home, and everything will be alright."

Rostov looked at his outfit. Come back muddy? Nobody would allow him to enter a plane, dressed this way. The coffee smelled good. Rostov smelled awful. He took his phone and sent Katja a message: «Tell the US Secretary: the new tradition is to eat vegetarian at Thanksgiving. The turkey says: "thanks".»

Then he took the battery out of his phone and went to the shower.