Date: 2012-03-02 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Mystery; Romance; Thriller; Contemporary; Action; Mystery Thriller
Description: 5-Star review- As with her other books, Chris Karlsen has impeccably researched her topic. Golden Chariot is engaging and full of information and insight. I thoroughly enjoyed this smart, well-written story and am looking forward to reading more from this author. Josie--Night Owl Reviews "Dan Brown underwater! I thoroughly enjoyed this romantic thriller. Charlotte Dashiell, the heroine is a nautical archaeologist with an interesting and unique theory she’s trying to prove. I appreciated the imagination behind her theory. Charlotte engaged me from the beginning where she is caught on a sinking
Publisher: Books to Go Now

Golden Chariot

Chris Karlsen

Excerpt:

Shouts of “fire” came from all sides of the camp. The west wind blew sparks in the direction of the lab. They could lose the entire camp, but not the lab, not the artifacts.

Charlotte grabbed an empty barrel from the fire line. She ran with it and started climbing the stairs to the shower stall’s water tank. A man’s large hand covered her mouth. His other hand brandished a gun. With the cold barrel to her ear, he walked her backwards down the few steps to the ground.

“Don’t scream.” Little-by-little his palm came away from her mouth.

Praise for Chris Karlsen

Knights in Time Series

Heroes Live Forever

“What a wonderful book. I found myself completely and utterly immersed in the world created by Chris Karlsen. I had my emotions tried again and again, feeling elated at times, broken at others, then complete by the end.”

“Heroes Live Forever is the wonderful story of Basil Manneville and Guy Guiscard, two Medieval Knights killed in a brutal battle against the French in 1356. Unable to cross over, both ghosts take up residency in the home of school teacher, Elinor Hawthorne.

Basil is given a second chance at love and discovers that, indeed, true love does transcend all things, even if they seem impossible. This is a “can’t put down book” and a fabulous summer read. Chris Karlsen is an up and coming author and someone to keep your eye on. I can’t wait for the next book.”

Excerpt from Journey in Time

“Alex, what is going on?” she asked in a frenzied whisper.

“Shh.” After they mounted, Alex sidled over, so close their boots touched. “We’re riding into a very perilous situation. I’ll explain everything when we’re alone. Your life, my life,” he stressed, “depends on you being quiet until then.”

Confused it took Shakira a few seconds before she nodded yes.

“Remember what I told you,” he warned and trotted ahead to chat with the knight he called Simon

Also by Chris Karlsen

Knights in Time Series

Heroes Live Forever

Coming Soon

Knight Blindness

Coming Soon

Byzantine Gold

Golden Chariot

Copyright 2012

By Books to Go Now

For information on the cover illustration and design, contact bookstogonow@gmail.com

First eBook Edition –January 2012

Printed in the United States of America

Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously.

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www.bookstogonow.com

(Zeus) spoke thus in answer: “Of all the mortals in Troy, Hektor was dearest indeed to the Gods.”

The Iliad

Chapter One

Santorini, Greece

Charlotte snapped awake at the explosion of sound. The boat trembled and the noise evolved into a long, scrape of metal on metal. She threw the sheet off and sat up. Around her, loose items fell to the cabin floor. She groped for the nightstand lamp and worked the toggle switch several times. Nothing.

The boat rocked and listed hard to starboard. She held onto the edge of the nightstand to maintain her balance, rose, and inched forward to the wall. She kept her palms on the wood panel and moved in small increments. Sharp bristles from her hairbrush stabbed her foot as she stumbled in the dark.

“God damn it.” She kicked the brush aside and stepped with caution across the room. She flipped the wall switch for the overhead light, still nothing. The generators were out. Whatever happened to the boat damaged the engines. Ekrem and Heather were in the master cabin next to hers and above the engine room.

She continued toward the door. Water in the passageway was up to her ankles, panic shot through her. The absence of light worsened her fear. The boat was in serious trouble.

She hugged the wall so she wouldn’t become disoriented. “Ekrem,” she called out when she felt the metal door frame of their cabin. “Are you and Heather all right?”

“We’re fine,” he called back.

“I think we’ve been broadsided. We’re taking on water fast. We need to get out now.”

“I know,” Ekrem said. “We’re coming.”

Above them, the captain shouted orders. The sound of running feet on the top deck echoed down.

She heard Ekrem struggling to open the narrow cabin door. Solid mahogany, its weight and the tilt of the boat pulled against him. She pushed hard on the door from the passageway. It opened enough for him to manage a two-handed hold on the edge.

“Charlotte, where are you?”

“I’m here.” She reached out in the dark. Her hand landed on his thigh. Ekrem had braced a foot on the side of the frame for leverage and pressed his back to the door to keep it open.

“Stay there,” he said. “Heather, come. Watch the step-up.” Charlotte found Heather’s hand and pulled her to the wall.

Ekrem came out. “Heather, hold onto me and don’t let go of Charlotte’s hand. I’ll lead.”

A crewman with a flashlight met them as they started up the stairs. “Hurry, please. The lower deck is underwater...is bad.”

On deck, Ekrem reassured Heather, who clung to him.

Charlotte noticed nearby pleasure craft had turned their lights on and lit the water around the sinking gulet. Crews and passengers from the other boats called out in Greek, Turkish, and English offering assistance.

When she boarded, the captain told her the vessel’s length was twenty-one meters. She estimated the mast height was close to the length. The gulet presented an unmistakable profile.

She expected to find a disabled yacht with a drunken owner at the helm. Blind drunk. Only the same boats she saw anchored the night before dotted the marina. In the moonlight, she saw a trawler running without lights heading out of the harbor. It had to be the boat that struck them. The collision should’ve crippled the trawler, and why hadn’t the captain stayed to lend a hand or give a statement?

Ekrem yanked on her elbow and shoved her and Heather into the arms of the crewman. “Help them to the tender.”
The captain of their gulet joined them. “Ladies, Mr. Zeren, please, the Zodiac waits.”

“Take the women,” Ekrem said, his attention fixed on the fleeing trawler.

Heather and Charlotte ignored the crewman’s pleas for them to leave.

“You know this boat?” the captain asked Ekrem.

Charlotte wanted to hear what was said and moved closer to the two men.

“Turkce,” Ekrem said, with a slight jerk of his head toward Charlotte.

The captain nodded and repeated the question in Turkish.

“Evet,” Ekrem said. “Belki,” he added, qualifying his yes with a maybe.

Her gaze shifted from him to the boat in question and back. “You know who rammed?”

Ekrem hesitated then asked, “Turkce konusabiliyormusun?”

She had a working knowledge of the language. “Biraz, I speak a little. Yeteri kadar, enough,” she said, seeing the surprise on Ekrem’s face.

He avoided her question. Instead, he gave Heather a gentle push into the captain’s hands. “Take them and go.”

Heather pulled free from the captain’s grasp. “What do you mean ‘take them?’ Aren’t you coming?”

“I must find my cell phone before water floods our cabin. The people that struck us are escaping. It’s imperative I notify my associate of the situation. This cannot wait.”

“You can’t stay.”

“Your flashlight,” Ekrem demanded of the deckhand. The man handed over the light. Ekrem turned to start down the stairs.

Heather blocked him. “Ekrem, no.”

“Go with the crew. Go now.”

“Come with us, please. Call from the village.”

“I’ll be fine. I can swim to shore. Do not argue with me.”

Heather didn’t move. Ekrem sent a desperate look over her shoulder to Charlotte.

“I won’t leave without you,” Heather insisted. “What is so urgent it can’t wait until you’re ashore?”

Charlotte worried it was too risky for Ekrem to remain on the sinking boat. She stepped between him and Heather. “Ekrem, it’s crazy to stay. You’re not safe. Please, come.”

He bent so only she would hear. “Trust me; I must get the Ministry men from my unit here. I need their help and yours. Heather is fragile. Take care of her. Please do this for me. I will meet up with you as soon as possible. Please.”

She disagreed with his decision, but she’d do what he asked. “Of course.” She slid an arm around Heather’s waist.

“Once you’re at the village, go to the Alkyona Taverna. Ask for Georgios, the owner,” he told Charlotte. “Tell him what happened. He’ll arrange rooms for you.”

“Come Heather, the faster he gets done, the faster he can get off the boat,” she said.

“Go.” With his hand on the small of Heather’s back, Ekrem forced her out of his path and disappeared below.

“Ekrem,” Heather cried after him as Charlotte eased her away.

#

The water spilled over the raised step of the cabin. The carpet absorbed the initial flow.

Ekrem found the phone wedged between the wooden base of the bed and nightstand. He dialed the unit’s secure line to a specific investigator. His partner picked up on the second ring.

“Atakan...yes, I know. Forget the time. Someone tried to kill me,” he said and hurried from the cabin. “Our boat was broadsided. Hard. I think it was Tischenko.”

Knee-high water rushed down the passageway. “The other boat cleaved through both lower decks of the hull to sink us fast and trap the passengers. The method is his style. If it’s him and he knows I survived, he’ll try again.”

He waded through to the stairs and ditched the flashlight. “I’m sending Heather home today, out of harm’s way. Get our rapid response team to the island and coordinate with the Greek authorities.”

Ekrem climbed onto the top deck. “Meet me at the Coast Guard Headquarters in Oia.”

Chapter Two

Maksym Tischenko tapped his fingers in time to the Emigrate song. The group’s drummer made them a better than average metal band. It’s all about the percussion instruments. Maksym cranked the volume up and watched the activity on the gulet through binoculars.

The small inlet where he positioned the Carrera speedboat afforded privacy and an unobstructed view of the sinking. Nestled at the foot of the beachless rocky cliff, and away from the village, boaters rarely anchored there.

Ekrem and his woman survived. Maksym thumbed the button on his MP-3 player and fast forwarded to
This is What, his favorite song on the album. The couple should have drowned. He’d calculated the exact point Oleksiy needed to strike the gulet. The bow of the trawler would penetrate the hull deep and split Ekrem’s cabin in two. The idiot Oleksiy missed the master suite by several meters. The mistake forced Maksym to go to his trickier contingency plan.

The gulet crew helped the women into the tender, but Ekrem remained and went below again. Why?

Maksym lowered the binoculars. What would he do in Ekrem’s place? In the old days, regulations required him to report any accidents to the Russian Fleet Command. It was safe to assume Ekrem complied with similar rules. Why not call the Ministry from land, unless secrecy was an issue? With the Zodiac gone, Ekrem had to swim to shore. He hadn’t much time before the boat sank. What, or who, is worth this risk? Maksym found the action curious but to his advantage. Better to catch him alone in the water than in the village.

Maksym eyed the trawler leaving the harbor and pulled the cell phone from his gear bag. Oleksiy was an old acquaintance from the military. He expected they’d meet up on Thirasia, to celebrate completion of their contract. Oleksiy’s failed execution of the plan meant his work could no longer be trusted. A pity. He always liked the hard-drinking Russian.

Maksym waited for the part of the song he liked best, where the drums dominated the singer. He punched in the number of the cell phone he left on the trawler and pressed the send button. The boat exploded into a floating fireball. Fiery debris filled the air before plunging into the peaceful Aegean.

Maksym removed the ear buds and laid the player and binoculars on the speedboat’s dashboard. He slipped the scuba tank and fins on and adjusted the mask. He’d swim without a wetsuit, the way he preferred. Weak tourists complained of the sea in the area being too cold this early in the season. They’d lie in the warm sun, grow hot, and wade out. When the cool water hit their pale bellies they’d squeal like clubbed pigs and run back to the beach. He grew up swimming in the far colder water of the Black Sea. The sea around Santorini was like bath water.

He could just make out the figure emerging onto the deck of the gulet.

Finish Ekrem. Finish the job.

Maksym dove into the water.

Chapter Three

From the dock, Charlotte watched the gulet sink as the Coast Guard official approached to take her statement.

“Captain Gunes tells us your boat was rammed.”

She turned.

Black and thick, the official’s mustache covered his upper lip from the corners of his mouth to his nose. Like an independent life form, it bobbed as he spoke, giving his stern face a strangely comic effect.

She pushed the inappropriate distraction from her mind. “Yes...I’m sorry; I don’t know your rank. Is it
Officer
Petalas?”

“Lieutenant. The boat which struck yours is the same one that exploded as it fled the scene. Correct?”

“Yes.”

“Gunes said the missing man...” He consulted his notes. “Mr. Ekrem Zeren indicated he knew who attacked you.”

She nodded.

“Did he mention a name?”

“No.”

“A reason?”

“No.

“What brings you to Santorini?

“Mr. Zeren invited me. We’re colleagues. We worked together briefly last year. In two days, we start on a new excavation for the Maritime Institute of Archaeology and Research in Bodrum. He asked me to stop on the way to discuss the project.”

“Mr. Zeren is a Ministry Representative. Why would he wish to meet with you ahead of time and interrupt a private weekend with his woman? Was there a problem?”

“No. What are you suggesting?”

“It’s a simple question. Why does it upset you?”

“I’m not upset.” She wondered how Petalas arrived at the idea there was a problem. “I don’t understand why you think that.”

Petalas glanced over at Heather where another officer tried to interview her. The officer was forced to repeat each question while she kept vigil at the dock’s edge. Charlotte feared she waited for a lover who hadn’t survived. Too much time had passed.

“You have a history with Mr. Zeren,” Petalas said, looking back at Charlotte. “Colleagues or lovers perhaps? Can it be that you were part of a love triangle?”

“No. No,” she repeated with more emphasis, alarmed at the direction of the interview. “Absolutely not, we’re just colleagues.”

“You didn’t feel uncomfortable being an extra tire in the company of two lovers?” Petalas asked, misusing the slang expression.

“I believe you mean third wheel,” Charlotte said. From his blank stare, the correction was lost on him. “This wasn’t my idea. Again, he invited me.”

“Perhaps, the boat that hit you is a jealous ex-boyfriend or lover of yours?”

He looked down his nose at her, a superior up-tilt to his chin. His barrel chest puffed out, flattening the military creases on his uniform shirt. Whether the provocative shift in attitude was a successful technique for him or a subconscious mannerism, Charlotte didn’t know or care. He put the premise out there like a question. But, it was obviously the conclusion Petalas had come to in his own small mind.

“No lieutenant, there’s no jilted boyfriend or lover.”

“How well do you know Miss Hilliard?” He gestured in Heather’s direction.

“I don’t. We met for the first time yesterday.”

“Did the three of you go anywhere, meet anyone?”

“I arrived on the afternoon flight from Athens. Once I got to the gulet, we stayed onboard.”

“No one joined your party? You had no contact with the people on the boat that struck yours?”

She shook her head.

“You’ll swear to this? You’ll swear this wasn’t a business transaction that went wrong, perhaps?”

She bristled at Petalas’s suspicious tone and not so veiled accusations. She took a deep breath. Stay calm.
She took another deep breath and let it out. She started to inhale again then stopped. The exercise did nothing to relieve her tension. She wanted to choke Petalas.

“Yes, to both,” she said. She’d swear under oath, give a written statement, anything they requested. His innuendos couldn’t reach the administration of MIAR. She’d never worked with them before. They might remove her from the project. She had to stay assigned to the shipwreck. The wreck was her first and perhaps only chance to prove her theory.

“Exactly, what are you getting at, lieutenant? I have the impression you want to turn the situation around--—make us the suspects. We’re the victims here.”

“I want the truth. Your concerns and impressions aren’t important to this investigation. Your party is at the core of serious events. Mr. Zeren and Miss Hilliard arrived yesterday morning. You arrived in the afternoon. In a matter of hours, a stranger sinks your gulet. Then, that boat mysteriously explodes, and the only man who has any answers is missing.”

“I don’t know how, or why, Ekrem thought he knew the other boat,” she said with more heat than was prudent. “I’m a visiting archaeologist, period.”

She tapped down her irritation. This wasn’t the man to take a hostile attitude with.

“Speaking of Ekrem,” she said, in an even tone, “he should be here by now. He stayed onboard to place an urgent call. He was only a couple of minutes behind us. We watched from the end of the pier and saw him dive into the water. Are your people searching for him?”

Petalas told her to “turn around.” She did, and he pointed to a patrol boat weaving a slow, horizontal pattern across the marina. A flood light on the stern lit the area as they went.

“We are. Finding your missing friend is a critical concern to us too,” he said. “This urgent call, did Mr. Zeren say who he needed to contact?”

“No.”

The patrol boat circled around and stopped, idling in one spot. The crew kept the light fixed on a small area. One of their divers entered the water. She couldn’t see what drew their attention. Another officer joined the one operating the light. The diver waved and the second man threw something from the boat out to him.

A message came over Petalas’s radio. He answered, nodding as he listened. Charlotte didn’t understand Greek, but she had a sick feeling she knew what they were telling him.

She looked out toward the search area and squinted, staring hard at the water in the circle of light. There was a burst of activity on the boat. The diver resurfaced. He and the crew struggled with whatever they’d seen as they tried to bring it onto their boat. She knew what it was.

“You found Ekrem?”

Petalas offered only a simple, “Yes.”

“He’s dead, isn’t he?”

“Yes.”

With him went the only person who could verify her statement and explain the reason for her presence on the gulet.

Chapter Four

The water of Santorini’s caldera basin sparkled, the bursts of light an endless display on the surface.

“Who’d believe something so beautiful can come from such a cataclysmic event,” Charlotte said. “A volcanic eruption so horrific, Vesuvius pales by comparison. It tests the imagination. Yet, it left behind this dazzling sight.”

She put her cup down. “Forgive me, Mr. Vadim that was inappropriate. I don’t mean to diminish the seriousness of the circumstances with talk about scenery.”

“I know. Please call me Atakan.” He lifted the lid on the pot of coffee in front of her and signaled the waiter for another.

“I’m sorry about your friend and for Heather, of course. I visited her for a few minutes this morning to express my condolences.” Charlotte’s heart went out to the woman. What a terrible, tragic end to the start of a lovely romantic weekend. “Did you know Ekrem a long time?”

“Ten years. We started at the Ministry of Culture at the same time. Everyone is shocked by his death. I, myself, find the circumstances hard to believe. Ekrem was an excellent swimmer, a strong swimmer.”

“You’re not alone. The authorities here find the circumstances difficult to believe too. Have you met Lieutenant Petalas?” Charlotte wrinkled her nose. “He and his partner grilled Heather and me something fierce. They acted like we were involved in some illegal activity that went wrong.”

Charlotte left out Petalas’s love triangle insinuation. Due to the seriousness of the incident, general information would be sent to the Maritime Institute’s administration. She didn’t need scandal added to the mix.

Atakan looked puzzled. “Grilled? How do you mean this word?”

“Their manner of questioning us was unpleasant, metaphorically heated with innuendo, Petalas’s in particular.”

“He’s doing his job,” Atakan said. “And yes, he and I met. We went out early this morning to the site where they found Ekrem. He was one-hundred meters from where the gulet sank, half the distance to the shoreline. I’ve seen him swim twice that and in far more treacherous waters.”

He stopped talking as the waiter set a fresh pot of coffee in front of Charlotte. She thanked him. When the waiter left, Atakan relaxed back in his chair.

“I read your statement. You’ve had time to calm down since then. Are you certain Ekrem never said who rammed the gulet?”

“He said, he maybe knew.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

The question perplexed her. She assumed when Atakan and the Turkish team arrived so fast, he was the associate Ekrem called. If so, then Ekrem told him who he suspected. Why was Atakan asking her to repeat the information?

“Did you see any of the other boat’s crew?”

“No. The trawler was headed out of the harbor when we reached the deck.”

“When you first arrived, did you notice anyone loitering at the marina?”

“No, but I wasn’t paying attention. I was only looking for Ekrem.”

“No stranger struck up a conversation with you? Try to remember.”

“No.”

Atakan appeared lost in thought as he sipped his coffee.

Still confused by the questions, she asked, “Weren’t you the person Ekrem called from the gulet? What did he tell you?”

Charlotte tried to get a handle on his thought process. Did he think she knew more and wasn’t being forthright? Had the Greek authorities planted that seed? On one level, she understood Petalas’s difficulty accepting her denial of knowledge. The bizarre incident left a lot of unanswered questions. She worried his suspicions might jade Atakan. As a representative of the Ministry of Culture, his impression of the situation, and of her, was crucial to her position with MIAR.

“You haven’t touched your coffee,” he said, ignoring her question. “Did you go straight to the marina from the airport?”

“Yes.”
“No one made idle conversation with you at the airport or while you waited for your taxi?”

“No, I didn’t speak to anyone.” She sighed. “I told Petalas, and I will tell you. I’ll sign a written affidavit or whatever is required as to what occurred. Everything is in my statement. Why are you asking me to repeat all this?”

“I merely want to know the sequence of events prior to the incident.”

He sipped more coffee and was quiet for a long uncomfortable moment. He glanced around at the other tables. The taverna was filled with customers eating brunch and enjoying the scenery. His attention settled on a few patrons, then moved away. Did he wonder if the suspect sat among the crowd? It was a chilling possibility she hadn’t considered.

From her perspective, she just wanted to go. The restaurant noise level was obnoxious. The clinking of dishes, the loud waiters, and the talk from other tables grew worse by the minute. Her eyes burned. Her shoulders ached. She felt like she’d been run over by a truck. The last hours were a nightmare she’d never forget. Between the gulet incident, Ekrem’s death, and the worrisome stigma of Petalas’s innuendoes, she was anxious to get the hell out of Santorini.

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to clear my bill. I leave for Bodrum this afternoon.” Charlotte slid her chair back and started to rise.

“Before you go, I have one more question, if you don’t mind.”

She did mind, but she couldn’t afford to alienate him. “I’m very tired. It was a long night, and I haven’t slept.”

“I’ll be brief.”

“Ask away.” She forced a polite smile and dropped down in the chair.

“Did Ekrem tell you why he invited you onto the boat?”

“To discuss the MIAR project.”

“Did he?”

She shook her head. “He said we’d talk today.”

“The Bronze Age shipwreck, positions on that recovery operation were much sought after. You’re quite lucky to be chosen.”

“I know.”

He put his empty cup down and moved the pot and cup to the edge of the table. The waiter approached with a fresh pot, but Atakan waved him away. He leaned forward with his elbows on the table.

“I’m curious, how did you get picked out of dozens of applicants?”

The change in body language, the subtle shift in his tone, from casual to brusque, set off alarm bells in her head. She knew a little about interrogation methods. The conversation had the undercurrent of one.

“What difference does it make?”

“Like I said, I’m curious,” he said. “Why does it bother you to answer?”

Her discomfort grew. Her entry onto the project was legitimate, but he made it sound otherwise.

“I have the education and I’m close to completing my doctorate in nautical archaeology. I worked on another recovery so I have experience,” she said. “As you must know, Ekrem worked as an advisor on that project for a short time. When I applied at MIAR, I expressed my deep interest in this particular wreck.”

“Good qualifications, I agree.” He looked unimpressed. “Not overly unique though.”

“Is this what Ekrem wanted to talk to me about?”

Atakan shrugged. “He worked a specialized unit, different than mine. I can offer no opinion on his intent.” He relaxed back in his chair. “What separated you from fellow applicants?”

She’d skipped the last detail. It wasn’t unethical, but she preferred it not become common knowledge. At this point, she might as well tell him. If he wanted to, he’d find out the information on his own.

“My stepfather’s corporation made a large donation to MIAR.”

“Is this what you do, buy your way into projects?”

“No. I didn’t ask him or his company to donate. It was a gift which, yes, I accepted. For this opportunity, I took advantage of the resources available to me.”

Atakan’s penetrating stare, his intense dark-eyed study of her as she explained rattled her. Compelled to defend herself, she told him, “Someone has to fill the spot, why not me? I suppose you think that’s unfair.”

“Benefactors and donations make our work possible.”

Charlotte noticed he didn’t comment on the fairness question. The second time he let a question hang. “I’d really like to leave now. If there’s a nothing else...”

“No, I’ve taken enough of your time.”

“Mr. Vadim--”

“Atakan.”

“Sorry, Atakan. This project is important to me. I don’t want any problems.”

“Of course not. I’m afraid my curiosity has upset you.”

“Not at all.” Relieved, she pushed her chair back and stood. “Perhaps we’ll meet under more pleasant circumstances down the road.” Charlotte extended her hand.

Standing when she rose, Atakan said, “Perhaps,” and shook her hand.

#

Atakan called Director Savas Firat on his private line. He’d butted heads with the abrasive Director on several occasions. Much as Atakan disliked the man personally, he respected Firat’s absolute dedication to preserving the country’s cultural heritage. He gave his investigators near carte blanche when pursuing artifact smugglers. Firat’s reaction to the murder of one of his unit was lightning swift. He’d grant the investigator in charge even greater latitude than on smuggling cases.

“Director, its Vadim. Anything back from the passport information on Charlotte Dashiell?”

“Interpol has nothing on her. I contacted the Americans. The State Department has initiated a background check.”

Atakan took the file he’d obtained from Petalas’s aide and read through the copies of her passport entry stamps. Her travels were concentrated in the region of the Aegean and Mediterranean during the summer months. Probably diving. This trip was her first extended stay visa from Turkish immigration. She’d visited numerous times for shorter periods during the winter when the dive season was over.

Where did she go when she wasn’t diving?

Tischenko kept a place in Sevastopol. The overnight ferry from Istanbul to Sevastopol was easy transportation. Atakan fanned through the passport entries but didn’t see a Ukrainian Immigration stamp. That only proved she hadn’t been to the Ukraine. Tischenko could’ve met her in Istanbul. Geographic proximity with no other evidence to link her to him was weak. In any other case, he’d disregard the improbable connection. Her association with Sun Bear Corporation and the unethical Waterman was the Ministry’s original issue. The circumstances of Ekrem’s death changed everything. Atakan had to approach the investigation from a different angle.

He closed the file.

“You talked to her. What did she say?”

“Ekrem hurried the women off the boat before he called me. Her account of the attack is relatively vague, as is Heathers. Nothing of value came from our conversation,” Atakan replied.

“Bah, you interview her yet got nothing, no useful information. A waiter could tell me as much.”

Atakan gritted his teeth and took the insult.

“What do the Greek authorities think?” Firat asked.

“They’re suspicious because of the timing, like we are.”

“She arrives and the same day an experienced investigator ends up dead. What’s your take on it?”

“Tough call, could be a simple case of wrong place, wrong time. Or, if she’s working with Waterman, she figured by getting rid of Ekrem, she eliminated the obstacle a Ministry official presented.”

“You think she didn’t realize another Ministry rep would replace him?”

“Who knows?” Atakan thought for a moment. “She’s never worked a Turkish project. She may not be aware of our policy. She leaves today for Bodrum to start on the MIAR project. Have me reassigned to their team. If she’s involved with Tischenko or Waterman, I will discover the truth.”

Chapter Five

Athens

“Aaron, my friend, everything is in place on my end.”

Stevan met Aaron Waterman a few times over the years. A London antique dealer who purchased smuggled artifacts introduced them. When the American called and suggested a partnership, his first inclination was to decline. But, when Waterman described his plan, Stevan found it financially irresistible.

Stevan put the phone on speaker and opened the humidor. “My associate is on the recovery team. I’m confident we’ll acquire, if not our exact desires, other profitable pieces.”

“Still keeping your associate’s identity secret from me, I see,” Waterman said.

Stevan selected a Dunhill from his humidor, sniffed the body, and then clipped the end. “Don’t pretend offense. As we agree, no names are necessary, only results,” he said, lighting the cigar.

“Fine. The only important name is Charlotte’s. When the time comes, she’ll ping the Turk’s radar like an F-18,” Waterman chuckled.

Stevan listened. Strange people, the Americans, they love combat terms. Fighting and war is always in the forefront of their thoughts.

“Pardon the expression, the Trojan War is her Achille’s Heel. My business partner, Frank, mentioned the wreck and her obsession with Troy and doing her dissertation on the topic. As he’s talking, I’m thinking this is a win-win opportunity.”

“Doesn’t it bother you to use your partner’s daughter in this way?”

“She’s Frank’s stepdaughter. Am I bothered? Hell, no. The arrogant bitch is the perfect scapegoat. The Ministry will never believe she isn’t the thief.”

Waterman had the breathless sound of a man in the throes of orgasm, like he wanted to fuck Charlotte Dashiell in other ways.

“I believe there’s more to it,” Stevan replied, curious about Aaron’s real motive.

“You talk like a shrink.”

“You’re condemning a young woman to prison.”

“And your point?”

“You’re friends with her family. You’ve known her a long time. I wonder why.”

“I don’t owe you an explanation for the same reason you don’t have to tell me the name of your associate on the team.”

“Fair enough.”
“Which brings up the question, what the hell were you thinking, ordering the boat she was on rammed? You want to kill some Turk investigator fine, but you risked killing her too. Lose her and our plan goes into the toilet.”

“I wasn’t behind the attack. I knew nothing about it until afterward,” Stevan lied. Ekrem’s death was a personal matter. Like the Dashiell woman was none of his concern, Ekrem was none of Waterman’s business. Theirs was a financial relationship, nothing more. Waterman had money. Stevan needed it.

“Who was it then?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. I don’t anticipate any other interference.”

“You’d better be right.”

“Don’t threaten me, Aaron.”

“You’re no different than any business partner of mine. Control the situation, or I’m out.”

Waterman hung up.

“Bastard,” Stevan said to the dead line.

Chapter Six

Bodrum, Turkey

“Incredible,” Charlotte said, admiring the diptych. Other team members murmured similar appreciation.

“Yes, a magnificent find. A fishing boat snagged a large amphora in its net and brought the piece to us. Inside we found the ingots,” Refik Mahir, the team leader, indicated the stack of lapis lazuli rounds. “Under them was a layer of brushwood dunnage. The book was buried beneath the branches.”

He rolled out a detailed map of the Bozburun Peninsula with the degrees of longitude and latitude indicated. “The captain logged the location. An underwater survey of the area revealed our Bronze Age shipwreck.”

The archaeologists pressed closer to the diptych for a better examination. For them, the recovery of a three-thousand year old book was sublime inspiration. The discovery of such a magnificent relic, interpreting the who, what, and where of its origin added another page to the narrative of an ancient culture.

The ivory hinge that once held the two wooden tablets together had broken into several pieces. Most of the wax with its written message had worn away. Charlotte and the rest tried different positions and angles, looking for the best one to read the symbols.

“It’s Akkadian cuneiform,” Refik said.

“The language of diplomacy,” Charlotte said. “Who’s the sender, and who’s the receiver?”

“We can’t tell. That portion of the text didn’t survive.”

“Here, where the writing changes--” Ursula Schweiger, a new team member like Charlotte, pointed to a line of faint pictographs at the bottom. “Is this a form of Egyptian hieroglyphs?”

“No, it’s Luwian or Luwoglyphic,” Charlotte said, familiar with the design. “Looks like part of a list, but of what?”

“The ship’s a merchantman. Odds are it’s a cargo list,” Gerard, one of the researchers suggested.

“In a diplomat’s letter?”

“Why not? Envoys traveled on merchant vessels. Not every kingdom possessed ships.”

“True.” Charlotte ran a light hand over the clay amphora that contained the diptych. “Anatolian grey?”

“Yes,” Refik said.

“Luwian cuneiform and Anatolian grey pottery-know who I think the source is?” she said, encouraged by the combination.

“Don’t jump to conclusions. Neither means it’s from Troy. Nor can we assume it’s a diplomatic letter,” Refik cautioned, reading her mind. She’d presented her theory to him when she petitioned the MIAR for a spot on the recovery operation.

“But it could be.”

“The Hittites had a large empire. This could’ve come from many places.” Refik turned from the display. “Everyone follow me,” he said, exiting the temporary conservation tent.

As they walked together, he explained the details of the project. While he chatted, he read through paperwork, signed equipment inventories, or gave a quick pat on the shoulder to a passing colleague.

Charlotte knew of him by reputation. Nautical archaeologists respected him. His harsh criticism of treasure hunters as exploiters seeking only personal gain incited heated debate. Treasure hunters routinely disparaged him on their blogs.

Charlotte wanted to work with him since entering graduate school. His particular research concentrated on shipwrecks located in the Aegean and Eastern Mediterranean. Her field of interest, the Trojan War, focused on the same geographic area. If proof of her theory existed, she believed it was here.

He led them to a picnic style table with wooden benches on each side and olive crates at the ends for extra seating. Canvas draped over poles sheltered the table from the sun.

“Sit.”

The group spread out. A few sat at the table, others lay on the ground, propped on their elbows. Charlotte sat at the far end of the long bench that faced the sea. A gentle breeze off the water blew refreshing cool air and welcome relief from the heat.

Refik addressed the team. “For our new members who don’t know, a representative of the Ministry is present at all archaeological sites.”

Atakan stepped from the shade of a cedar tree. He bent and said something in Refik’s ear. Refik gave a single word reply. “This is Atakan Vadim, our liaison and an archaeologist. He will also participate in the recovery process.”

Atakan smiled and then walked toward an uncomfortable Charlotte. His appearance didn’t smack of good news. She hadn’t cared for the way their conversation in Santorini ended. The two of them assigned to this wreck might be coincidence, except she didn’t believe in coincidence. She never understood the absurdity of using a hypothetical with no basis in fact to explain unusual events. Very unscientific.

There were dozens of other archaeological sites in Turkey. Why wasn’t he at one of them? Some backdoor wheeling and dealing went on for him to turn up here. His presence had to relate to her and the gulet incident. Or, it had nothing to do with the incident and was paranoia on her part. Paranoia was for the weak or the guilty.

He bypassed the half-empty bench across from hers and crowded into the small space between her and the end of the bench. Any other place and time, she’d tell him, “Sit on the other side, why park here?” Today, she slid over to give him room.

“Why didn’t you tell me in Santorini you’d be on this shipwreck?” she whispered.

“You didn’t ask.”

She faced front with her cheek on her palm and tried to ignore him.

Atakan tapped her arm.

She turned. “What?”

“I didn’t know until I returned. I don’t make the assignment decisions. Our organization only has a handful of certified divers, one less with Ekrem’s death. It happens I was available.”

The explanation sounded plausible. She still wasn’t convinced a behind the scenes deal hadn’t gone on.

“Uh-huh.” She returned her attention to Refik.

“You will be paired into individual teams for the duration of this season.” Refik announced the pairs. He came to Charlotte. “Dashiell, you’re with Vadim.”

Chapter Seven

Charlotte hid her consternation and gave Refik a simple nod. As a first-timer with Refik’s crew, she expected he’d partner her with one of the experienced members. That’s what she’d do. Atakan was new to the team too. Why stick them together? She suspected Atakan’s influence again in the decision, or more likely the Ministry’s.

Finished with the assignments, Refik ordered everyone to begin loading equipment and personal belongings onto the MIAR research boat, the Suraya.

Charlotte grabbed Atakan’s arm and pulled him aside. “The Ministry is behind this pairing. Don’t bother to lie. It’s obvious what’s going on. You’re here because that jerk Petalas suspects me of involvement in the gulet sinking. All of you can think what you want. I did nothing wrong.”

“How paranoid you are.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I didn’t start the day that way, if you catch my drift.”

“Our cultural heritage is precious to us. Turkey is rich in history and artifacts. My purpose here is to protect our relics and the integrity of the site.”

“Yeah, and you just happened to be paired with me.”

“Refik selected the partners. I had no say in the matter”

No say in the assignment to this wreck, no say in partner choice, her bullshit meter spun at warp speed.

“Charlotte, Atakan, get busy,” Refik called from the dock where a stacked pallet of wood waited to be loaded.

Charlotte waved, acknowledging the order. “Paranoid, my ass,” she said loud enough for Atakan to hear as she walked away.

“Whose designer bag?” Ursula asked. Tanned, with a white-blonde braid to her waist and German, she fingered the Gucci logo tag on Charlotte’s case.

“Mine.”

Ursula straightened as Charlotte approached. “Real or knock-off?”

“Real.”

“Re-al,” Ursula repeated to her twin sister Uma, stretching the word.

Uma looked unimpressed. She wore her hair close cropped with sides that winged up, Euro-punk style, distinguishing her from her sister.

Charlotte grabbed her case.

“It’s a recovery project, not a resort. No one brings an expensive bag,” Ursula said.

No one on Charlotte’s previous shipwreck team commented on her luggage. “I brought what I had.”

“Whatever, as you Americans like to say.” Ursula turned to Uma. “Let’s go.” They left for the dock with their generic bags.

“Nice luggage,” Atakan said, as he passed.

“I brought what I had.” The two pieces she came with sank with the gulet. Her mother and stepfather gave her the luggage for her birthday. She contacted Gucci in Istanbul who air-expressed replacements to Bodrum. It never dawned on her to buy less expensive ones.

#

Bozburun Peninsula

Scrub covered the rocky hills. The peninsula’s equally rocky shoreline surrounded the bay where this latest discovery rested. Not far from there was the site of the Glass Wreck, a sunken eleventh century merchantman discovered in the 1970’s.

Local fishermen assisted the team, ferrying material and people from the Suraya to shore. Construction of the group’s camp began immediately. Portable generators were connected first to start the food and fresh water chilling. Later in the afternoon, they’d set up the other generators for the computers and additional equipment.

The women nailed thick mesh screening to two-by-four frames. The men hauled the sections to the flattest areas along the cliffs. There, they’d be assembled into various sized buildings, according to their purpose. The combined kitchen and dining hall and the water system were the first priority. The lab came next. Protection for the artifacts and preservation of conservation equipment was a major concern. After the lab, they fashioned hostel-style dormitories and a stall shower. Everyone assisted in attaching the heavy, woven straw mats used for roofing material. The crew finished the entire compound by the end of the day. The overall layout was similar to a wartime MASH unit, basic, but efficient. Project funds went to the operation and not to unnecessary amenities. They had everything they needed, enough for a group of “geeks obsessed with junk from some ancient yard sale” as Charlotte’s brother referred to archaeologists.

Chapter Eight

The Suraya anchored over the wreck between two barren islands. Refik unrolled a site-survey map across the console table in the ship’s bridge. Everyone gathered around to review the findings conducted by a submersible and an ROV.

“That’s a nasty bit of business.” Charlotte pointed to a treacherous underwater ridge which ran unseen from the surface along the shore of one island. “I wonder if that caused the shipwreck.”

“Maybe, could just as easily been a storm,” Refik said.

After the review and a brief procedural discussion the slow process of excavation began. The ten individual teams had a specific assignment. One pair stayed onboard the Suraya as an emergency rescue unit. Each team was limited to twenty minutes underwater time. The descent and ascent took two minutes each, reducing work on the bottom to a mere sixteen minutes. Divers were allowed only two dives a day.

Atakan was in charge of the Nikon camera while Charlotte carried a thousand-watt underwater light. A hundred-meter cable attached to the light ran on generator power from the deck of the Suraya. They’d take the latest pictures of the hull.

“Help me go over the checklist,” Atakan said.

He verified the items as she read off the equipment sheet. “Twenty-eight millimeter lens, long focus lens, exposure meter and camera bar.” She looked up. “Do you want me to carry the bar?”

“No, I can manage, besides you have to deal with the light cable. Thank you, though.” He folded the bar into thirds and carried it upright like a foot soldier with a spear.

She followed him to the platform. “Between the camera gear hanging off you and your dive gear, you look like one of the Transformers.”

Atakan stopped and turned. “The action figures?”

“Yes.”

He checked his reflection in one of the bridge’s glass windows. “I do, don’t I? Which am I, a good one or an evil one?”

“You tell me.”

She hadn’t expected him to know who the Transformers were.

“You read comics?”

“Certainly not. My nephew has a set of the figures. What about you?”

“I don’t read comics either. I rented the movie. Lots of slick CG work, I love that stuff.”

#

The warm, sapphire blue of the surface water turned colder and darker as they eased the fifty meters down the guidelines to the seabed. Absolute silence. Charlotte took a moment to enjoy the quiet and float, relaxed, free from gravity. This is how being in space must feel. On television, astronauts played like kids in their weightless environment. She believed they shared the same sense of liberty she experienced with every dive. She’d always felt a kinship with astronauts. Their helmets and suits reminded her of the ones used by early divers. Their air tanks were similar to a modern diver’s. Like the sea, space was an alien and spectacular world.

She kicked away from the guideline and caught up with Atakan. They followed the grid markers established by the earlier teams through a field of pottery pieces.

When they reached the wreck, they both paused. The currents swirled around the broken hull. They formed a vaporous veil in the faint light that filtered down from the surface. How lonely and forlorn the ship looked. Dead and forgotten, waiting three millennia for rediscovery. She tried to read Atakan’s expression behind the mask. Did the sight of the ship sadden him as well?

Atakan set the light bar on the seabed for later use. She stood by as he attached the long lens. Finished, he gestured where he wanted her to light first. Initial pictures taken by the ROV showed the wreck positioned precariously on a steep slope of the ridge. Much of the port side lay in a protective layer of sand. The partial skeletal remains of the bow sat at an upward slant. Exposed to the open waters, shipworms had destroyed most of the wood. The stern rested downward at the severest degree of the incline.

Atakan floated next to her, holding his wrist under the light. They checked their time. He’d photograph the exterior first. Then, if time permitted, as much of the bow’s cargo hold as possible.

They approached from the stern. In the time from the original survey, a slide had occurred. Loose rocks covered more of the hull and the stern at the farthest point. The extent of the damage to the stern’s hold couldn’t be estimated pending thorough investigation.

Seismic activity is a constant occurrence throughout the region. The slide wasn’t a surprise, but the danger it posed was a problem. The additional weight of the new rock layer coupled with the ship’s dicey position presented another hazard to a diver’s investigation. Movement, a shift in the distribution of weight, could send the stern into deeper water with the diver trapped inside. Or worse, newly displaced rocks might spill into the hold, crushing the diver. A horrible death either way.

Atakan took pictures of the slide and they continued their examination of the exterior. Sections of the damaged bow lay among stone anchors and common tools of the era, adzes, ax heads and hammers. Remnants of a layer of dunnage protected another layer of goods which survived.

They keyed on what appeared to be weapons, daggers and a sword. They kneeled to get a closer look. Atakan changed lenses while Charlotte gently hand-fanned the silt off.

A sword. A single sword rather than a stock pile of weapons, rare for a Bronze Age cargo. If the shipment was intended as an ancient arms deal, there’d be a cache of swords and other weapons, spear tips and arrowheads clustered together. One sword with a few daggers were probably meant as gifts. The hilt appeared to have a faint ceremonial design and inset stones. They’d know more after cleaning.

A Prince of Troy’s sword? Proof of Hektor’s existence? She’d need more than a sword, but it was a start. She needed a body of artifacts with irrefutable Trojan markings. From those, she had to find any reference, however vague, to the men of the Iliad. One big find would suffice. Photography forgotten, she reached for the artifact.

Atakan grabbed her wrist before she touched the piece. He shook his head and mimed writing. The ship’s cargo needed to be tagged and the location of the artifacts documented first.

They entered deeper into the bow hold. Stacks of medium-sized spherical and oval amphoras, many intact, and larger pithois still sealed were scattered around. She hoped some of the clay pots bore a design to help identify their origin. None did from her limited view.

Atakan snapped more photos as they kicked further into the recesses of the wreck. In the corner, chunks of rotted wood mixed with the splintered sections of round pegs were piled together. Nearby were concretion encrusted metal pieces, possibly tin or copper items.

The upper deck of this type of merchantman was limited to modest portions of the stern and less of the bow. One end was used as the crew’s living space and passenger area. The other flat surface held the ship’s anchors. The common construction of the time left the majority of the ship’s cargo exposed.

The last unexplored interior area was in the part of the stern most vulnerable to slippage. Here decking had collapsed into the hold burying part of the protected cargo.

She panned the chamber with the light. Fragments of double-handled stirrup jars, broken oil lamps, cook pots and bowls littered the sand...the crew’s possessions. The sailor’s graveyard.

Two mottled Moray eels streaked toward them from a crevice, as they eased around the far side. She immediately lit the section in case there were more. Fast and aggressive, with sharp teeth, the eels lingered in dark places.

As she swept the area with the light, they discovered rows of Rhodian amphoras, a meter tall, blocked the entry into the deepest portion of the hold. The weight of their contents contributed to the stern’s excavation issues.

Charlotte and Atakan attempted various positions from above, trying for a better view into the recess with no success. They swam closer to the ruined keel. The narrow space didn’t allow them to parallel each other. She tapped her chest and pointed, signaling she’d go ahead.

She kept the light moving as she walked on the bottom. Something glinted as she swung past. A fraction of a bright object poked out from under chunks of hull. Trojan Gold?

She waved Atakan over and swapped her light for his camera. Like he did earlier, she mimed where she wanted him to look.

He went where she directed and quickly returned. He touched two fingers to his mask by his eyes and then back to the spot to indicate he’d seen the object. They checked the time. Their sixteen minutes were up.

Chapter Nine

“I need to report to the Director. I’m going to the village,” Atakan told Refik. Refik offered to let him use the Suraya’s phone. “Thank you, but it must be in private.”

A local boatman greeted Atakan and Charlotte with a broad, snaggle-toothed smile. He gave Charlotte a hand into the small boat, helping her as she picked her way over his empty baskets. More outgoing with another man, he clasped Atakan’s hand between his calloused palms. Atakan returned the clasp in similar fashion with a rapid exchange of words and nods.

The man delivered food from the villagers daily to the team. With no beautiful beach and no remarkable historical sites, tourists scarcely visited the area. Most families survived on the sale of what their individual plots of land produced, predominantly olives, figs and apricots. Small herds of goats and sheep roamed in fields or on the hillsides. The camp bought all the homemade sheep and goat cheese, jam and produce the locals brought them.

On shore, Charlotte left for the camp’s photo lab. Afterward, she’d report to Refik’s assistant, Talat, and describe the changes they observed. He’d update the survey charts for the divers assigned the tagging.

Atakan stayed with the boat, going on to the dock used by the villagers. The Ministry recently issued his unit Thuraya SG-2520 satellite phones. It worked fine in camp, but he wasn’t sure of the reception in the village. Thuraya guaranteed their users they’d never encounter “dead zones.” He didn’t trust the sales rhetoric and asked the boatman for a reliable cell site. The man told him there was a café at the top of the hill where service was good.

When they arrived at the inlet, Atakan pressed several coins in the man’s hand.

“Wait for me.”

A two-lane unlined paved road ran through the center of the village and had no traffic control signs or bordering sidewalks. Atakan kept to the far edge of the asphalt as he walked. It was best to stay well out of the way of his countrymen driving anything more than a slow cart.

The village was an assortment of squat wooden buildings laid out in no particular pattern. He found what he’d describe in the loosest of terms a café at the end of an unmarked dirt road. The tin-roofed patio was attached to a bakery and consisted of a few mismatched tables and chairs. On the hill, a stone’s throw away, sat a cell tower. Poor as the villagers were, they owned enough phones to require a tower. Atakan smiled, amused by the paradox.

The men seated there looked up briefly as he entered and then returned to their conversations. He sat at the farthest table with his back to them and ordered a glass of tea. The female proprietor brought it along with a fresh baked Cevizli. She urged him to try a piece of the tart and swore to its deliciousness. She made it herself, which he knew without her telling him.

“No thanks,” he said and waited for her to go. When she left, he called the Director.

“Savas Firat.”

“It’s Atakan. Did the Americans discover any useful information for us on Charlotte Dashiell?”

“Not much. She’s in a doctoral program, which we knew from MIAR. Her parents are divorced. The father is a retired policeman and she has a brother, who’s a Chicago policeman.”

The information didn’t fit with what they knew about her and how she was accepted on the project. “A policeman has a business with the financial ability to make such a large donation to MIAR?” Atakan never met a rich policeman, not an honest one anyway.

“The money isn’t from the natural father.”

Atakan had forgotten she mentioned a stepfather.

“Her mother is Patricia Snow and remarried, to a Frank Snow. The stepfather is interesting. Wealthy, he’s involved in several corporations in addition to Sun Bear.”

“What about her personally?”

“Nothing suspicious,” the Director said.

Atakan could hear him flipping pages as he spoke.

“Setting aside her presence on the gulet, her Waterman affiliation remains. His penchant for collecting artifacts with questionable provenance is well known.”

Atakan sipped his tea, analyzing the situation. “The stepfather’s role in the company muddies everything.” Most smuggling cases were clear cut. He hadn’t dealt with this type of complication before. “Frank Snow makes the gift defense logical.”

The Director snorted.

“I know,” Atakan conceded. “It’s also a clever cover for an agreement with Waterman. A donation from a corporation shields him.”

“Find out which it is, Vadim.”

Why the Director constantly offered the obvious as though he was divulging insightful guidance irritated Atakan more than all Firat’s other annoying habits together. A dozen sharp retorts hung on the tip of his tongue, he knew better than to say.

“She worked a wreck off the coast of Israel last year. Any problems occur, or do we know?” Atakan asked.

“I reread Ekrem’s report from the short time he was there. He had nothing derogatory to say regarding her. I also checked our other sources. They say nothing went wrong. She was enthusiastic, a good worker and well liked.”

“Sun Bear get her the position?”

“No. Her name was put forth by the university.”

“Of various wrecks MIAR is working, she only applied for a spot on this recovery operation. From our conversation in Santorini, I gathered there’s something specific to this project for her.”

“Obviously Vadim,” he said. “Which points back to a deal with Waterman.”

Rather than lose his temper and probably his job, Atakan took a deep breath and changed the subject. “What news on the boat that attacked Ekrem’s?”

“The Greeks recovered large sections of the hull. It was a custom built trawler. The bow and keel were constructed of exceptionally thick steel encapsulated in fiberglass. The fiberglass was laid in the direction most vulnerable to the stress of the strike for damage control.”

“Impressive. Anything else?”

“They discovered the registry-Sevastopol.”

“Tischenko.”

“Yes.”

“Who hired him and why now?” Atakan had gone through Ekrem’s past cases, looking for clues. Nothing stood out.

“Unknown, we questioned Heather Hilliard in depth. He rarely discussed his cases with her.”

“Can we connect Waterman to Tischenko?”

“No, not yet.”

“I’ll call again in a couple of days.” Atakan hung up and went inside to pay for the tea. Three golden Cevizli rounds sat on the counter behind the woman who served him.

“Are all those fresh?”

She hesitated, before turning to the counter. “Two, one day old. This,” she pointed to the third, “today, fresh.”

Atakan grinned to himself. In village speak, one day old really meant more like two or three days old. The allegedly fresh one might actually be fresh.

He never met a diver on one of these projects who was particular about food. They’d devour the walnut and marmalade treats regardless of age. “I’ll take all three.”

The woman’s face lit with delight. She straightened out three sheets of wrinkled, pre-used foil with surprising speed. Afraid I’ll change my mind, which he considered when he saw the used foil. What if she stored fish in it or something else stinky? She stacked the rounds into a net bag and handed them to him.

Atakan carried the desserts outside. Out of her eyesight, he opened the packages and smelled the foil around each. Satisfied, he rewrapped the cakes.

His thoughts returned to Charlotte as he walked back to the boat. Americans often mentioned the old movie, Midnight Express, both curious and shocked at the conditions portrayed in the picture. Smuggling stolen artifacts from Turkey was a minimum seven-year prison sentence. What American then, especially a woman, would risk going to a Turkish prison? If Charlotte was involved in Ekrem’s murder, she’d receive a life sentence.

Chapter Ten

Charlotte reread the professor’s email.

Keep me in the loop. I want status reports. You know the committee’s reluctance to approve your choice of subject for your dissertation. I told you when you came to me that the far-fetched nature of your theory strains logic. My feelings have not changed. After we receive your reports, the committee will decide whether or not to withdraw our tentative approval. I sincerely hope you do find the necessary proof.

Best regards,

Dr. Jergen Mortensen

“Didn’t need the reminder, professor.”

She sent the message to her trash bin and closed her laptop. Instead of savoring the chocolate and coconut as usual, She wolfed the Bounty Bar in four bites. Her email to Mortensen was a courteous update on the team’s work. It was not an invite to cast aspersions on her theory...again.

Chapter Eleven

Charlotte pulled her earphones out and turned the iPod off. She rolled her head around on her shoulders, hoping for relief in a small neck crack. Nothing happened and she tried again. Still nothing. She gave a long sigh and lifted another artifact from the desalination tank.

“Bored?” Atakan asked.

“No. I’m in awe as I work on pieces three thousand years old. Everything I touch was touched by someone in the Bronze Age. That’s incredible.” She set the fragile piece on the table in front of her and began to draw. As the recovery progressed, hand-sketched pictures and photos of their finds were sent to experts around the world.

“You sighed like you were bored.”

“Impatient is more accurate.”

“Impatient?”

“What we’ve uncovered is remarkable, but I’m anxious to see
what’s in the hold behind the Rhodian amphoras. You saw the flash of gold.”

“So,” Atakan said. “It could be anything, part of a
necklace, the rim of a chalice, or a gold clad statue. Any of those is a priceless find.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“You sound disappointed. You have something more special in mind.” He leaned closer to her. “What?”

Uma looked up from across the table. She stopped her work to listen.

Charlotte glanced over at her and then returned to drawing. “Doesn’t matter, it’s probably a necklace like you said.”

Atakan took the sketch pad and pencil from her and set both on the table. He hooked his hand under her arm. “I’m thirsty. Come have coffee with me.”

“I’ll listen to your music for awhile.” Uma reached for Charlotte’s iPod. “You don’t care, do you?”

She did because it was Uma asking. Everyone on the team shared iPods and MP-3 players all the time. Charlotte let others borrow hers. It’d look pissy if she said no to Uma.

“Knock yourself out.”

She and Atakan left the conservation tent and walked in silence to the kitchen. He filled a thermos with black coffee and took two cups from the shelf.

“Come.”

“Where are we going?”

“Someplace private. Do you have a preference?”

“Yeah.”

They hiked up a nearby hill where she led him to a cliff with a straight drop-off above a small cove. Smooth, flat rocks covered the ledge that overlooked the estuary.

Below, in the camp, Uma stood outside the tent watching them. Her white blonde hair made her easy to spot. Uma bugged her. The compound was small. Everyone saw a lot of everyone else. But she saw Uma all the time. The woman was forever underfoot, blocking doorways, taking excessively long showers, or listening to private conversations. Uma’s habit of inserting herself into those conversations often offering unsolicited opinions fueled Charlotte’s aversion.

She never made a negative comment about Uma to the others and kept her feelings to herself. She slipped only once, after being on the receiving end of Uma’s advice. Irritated, she told Atakan, “the woman’s like a Nazi Field Marshall...Rommel with bigger breasts.” He didn’t disagree.

“I’ve seen you sitting up here a few times,” Atakan said.

She turned, Uma forgotten. He’d filled their cups and sat relaxed with an arm draped over his raised knee.

“I come here when I want to be alone.”

“What do you think on, here in your aloneness? We’ve worked together for three weeks, and yet I know little about you.”

“I could say the same.”

“But, I asked first,” he said, in a teasing tone and smiled.

He had a nice smile. Genial and warm, she liked it although he didn’t do it often, not with her anyway. He laughed and joked with some of the others. Once in awhile, she’d catch him watching her and it wasn’t with humor or warmth. Just the opposite, he looked cold and somber. He reminded her of a pissed off angel in some Renaissance painting. She figured he associated her with Ekrem’s death, and that colored his feelings toward her. Take away the brooding expression and he was an attractive man. When he first arrived, his hair was well trimmed and combed back off this face. It was longer and shaggier now which probably contributed to her Baroque image of him. She liked the fact he stayed clean shaven instead of growing a beard like many men on the team.

“Where should I start?”

“Tell me about your great interest in this wreck.”

Charlotte sipped the coffee, stalling, contemplating how much to say. The Doctoral Committee made their lack of enthusiasm for her theory clear. Refik and the MIAR administration appeared skeptical but made no comment. Considering Atakan’s dedication to his country’s history and the fact Troy was in Turkey, maybe he’d see the fundamental logic of her theory.

“All right. On one condition. You can laugh, but you can’t blab about it to the rest of the team. It’s my personal theory. I don’t want the others to badger me.”

“Blab? What is this, blab?”

“Gossip with the team about what I share.”

He nodded his understanding. “I promise.”

“I think the ship contains the treasure of Troy, of the King of Troy specifically.”

He stared at her with an odd look of bewilderment.

She gave herself a mental kick in the ass for opening her big mouth. The statement was out there now, and she was standing by it.

“Do you mean, Trojan War Troy, as in Priam’s Gold?”

“Yes. The real Priam’s Gold, not Schliemann’s obviously.”

His eyes widened. “Priam...The Homeric king?”

“No, Priam the goat herder. Of course, Priam, the king.”

“He doesn’t exist.”

“That’s my point. My theory is he did.”

“Your theory is wrong. Outside of the Iliad, there’s no written record of such a man.”

“Because we haven’t discovered proof, doesn’t mean he didn’t live.”

“Impossible,” he said, shaking his head. “I agree the war occurred. The rest...Priam, Hektor, Achilles, etc., is fiction. They’re part of Homer’s well told fantasy, nothing more.”

She took a deep, indulgent breath. She’d prepared and rehearsed her argument for days before she met with Mortensen and the committee. She’d repeat it for Atakan the way she told them.

“Why not? A lot of the Iliad is accurate. The attackers, the Achaioi, are mentioned in historical documents. Linguists can connect Ilios, his title for the besieged kingdom to the Hittite vassal kingdom, Wilusa. Wilusa is the same location as the place we call Troy, which makes it geographically correct. His depiction of the political system in Mycenae is to our knowledge correct. That’s significant, since in Homer’s time, he didn’t have access to the written information we have. He--”

He stuck his hand up. “Stop. Like many bards, Homer’s story was probably a tale handed down over the generations. A tale which happened to include a few accurate details.”

“I agree,” Charlotte said. “The story of Troy and the war was in all likelihood retold through the centuries. I’m saying it wasn’t a mere war story. It had to be more. War---“

“No. The bones of the story were given to him. He filled it with people from his imagination.”

“Let me finish. Wars between kingdoms were common as fleas. There’s no reason for the invasion of Troy, if it was a simple war story, to become part of oral tradition. Something made this war story unique. I say, it’s the people.”

“You forget Homer’s audience. He wanted to capture their imagination. He took bits of old tales of terrible attacks on various wealthy cities. He might’ve had a vague idea of Wilusa’s location and surmised it was a prosperous kingdom and chose it for that reason. Then, he injects the legend with heroes and villains for entertainment purposes. Why do you dispute the logical?”

Everything Atakan said was true according to many experts. At least he didn’t laugh, hearing her hypothesis like most people would. He offered honest debate, but his skepticism didn’t dissuade her.

His brows notched up a fraction, waiting for her answer.

Charlotte struggled over whether or not to reveal the personal experience that inspired her idea and decided why not. She’d come this far.

“When I visited the ruins at Troy, I stood on top of one of the great sloping walls. A cold wind blew off the Dardanelles. I tried to imagine the wind bringing in an enemy fleet. Sails on ships of war as far as the eye could see.”

“’Thick as autumn leaves, or driving sand, the moving squadrons blacken all the strand,’” Atakan said in a soft voice, quoting Homer.

“Yes,” Charlotte said, encouraged by his Iliad reference. “As I stood there, a tour guide came by with his group. He pointed to a mound not far away and said, ‘We call that Hektor’s grave.’ Hektor. Troy’s true hero. I looked at the desolate, grassy rise, then up to where the citadel stood, and this powerful intuition came over me. Maybe the outcome of the war played out the way Homer portrayed, but maybe not. I can’t explain it. In my heart, I believe there’s another truth. ”

“Hektor’s Grave? You can’t be serious. This is tour guide talk. They like to add local folklore to their descriptions.”

“If I prove those people existed, I bet I can prove the end wasn’t the triumph Homer describes. It changes history and everything we’ve believed about the war since his time.”

“They’re fictional. If you think differently, then you are either mad, or a romantic, or a mad-romantic.”

The arrogant dismissal infuriated her. “I’m not a romantic school girl. Don’t treat me like one. I’m a scientist. Science makes fiction a fact all the time. Verne’s From Earth to Moon, or his 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, for example.”

“The concepts came to fruition, not the characters.” Atakan looked at her like she was nuts and asked, “If you believe these are real people then you believe Achilles is the son of a goddess and a mortal man. You think a man like that existed?”

She shot him a look of disgust and waved away the question with a swipe of her hand. What kind of nut bag did he think she was?

“No, that was Homeric spin. I still maintain Homer got more than a war story. He infused the main participants with additional traits, but the basic people involved are true. The players in this war made the story different. That’s why it was passed down for five centuries to his time.”

“You’re wrong.”

She hadn’t swayed Atakan even a little. Discouraged and angry, she stared out at the sea. Water always had a calming effect on her. At home, in Chicago, she spent many quiet moments by Lake Michigan.

A pod of bow riding dolphins cavorted next to a fishing boat en route to anchor farther out. Such joyous animals, she loved the way they burst from the water, like shiny, half-moons of silver, leaping high, and then diving down again. Along with manatees, they were her favorite sea mammals. This was a good spot for dolphin watching and one of the reasons she liked to come there.

“How is this wreck connected to your theory?” Atakan asked.

“Bronze Age...the time frame is right.” She turned to him the edge taken off her anger. “If I was Priam, losing a war, I’d make an effort to get my treasure to a safe place. The King of Cyprus wasn’t one of the Greek allies involved in the invasion. This wreck is on the trade route from Troy to Cyprus. Merchant ships came and went during the war. What better way to transport royal valuables than a common merchantman? And---“

He raised his hand, again. “Stop.”

only recovered a couple,” he said, “Those reasons don’t justify your focus on this ship.”

“So you say. And sit back, stop getting in my face.”

He gave her the space she wanted...barely.

“Part of the language on the diptych is Luwian. MIAR sent photos to the university’s archaeology department. My professor showed them to us. I admit it’s a stretch of the imagination to tie such weak evidence to the Troy of my theory. But, this was my best shot so far.”

“I understand the search for truth, the passion for understanding our ancestors. I don’t understand this particular passion. Deep down, you are obsessed with Troy’s hero, Hektor. Hektor is ours...Turkey’s. Why do you care so much about he who is ours to revere?”

“I told you. It changes our understanding of history. As an archaeologist, are you saying you wouldn’t pursue the possibility Achilles existed because he’s a Greek hero?”

“I wouldn’t ignore evidence regarding him, because if he lived so did Hektor. However, I wouldn’t go out of my way to prove another’s hero rather than my own. Why do you?”

She moved the cups and swung around, squaring off with him. “The nature of a man makes him a hero, not his nationality.”

“Who’s in whose face now?”

She scooted back a few inches.

“Do you resent foreign archaeologists working Turkish ruins?”

“Not at all. I welcome legitimate interest in our past. However, we’ve experienced incidents with archaeologists whose efforts were exploitive and motivated by profit. Since we’re on the subject, let’s say you find proof, then what?”

“Are you doubting my motivation?” She wasn’t sure where he was going with the question.

“No. There’s nothing negative implied in my curiosity. Again, what would you do?”

“There’ve been thousands of wars over thousands of years. None captures the imagination like this one. The Trojan War and the individual stories of the men and women have fascinated the world for two millennia. To prove their existence is comparable to finding Atlantis. I haven’t thought beyond...” Charlotte stumbled for a more thorough answer. “I’m not sure. Just relish the reality of being right I guess.”

“Your father’s company would enjoy some benefit too. They did open doors for you.”

“Like what, some good press because they helped sponsor the excavation? Big deal.” She stood. “It’s obvious you resent the fact their money gave me a leg up. I’m as sincere as any of the others, and you’re an impossible butt-head. Don’t talk to me anymore today.”

She walked a few steps and returned. Atakan hadn’t moved.

“Another thing, you can’t cherry pick just the heroes from a story,” she said, pointing her finger at him. “You can’t claim Hektor and not that selfish, conceited bastard, Paris.”

“Does butt-head mean what I think it means?”

“Figure it out.”

Chapter Twelve

More reasons supporting her theory popped into Charlotte’s head as she hiked down the hill. She’d save them for a later debate with Atakan.

“Uma-hi.”

“You jumped. Did I scare you?” Uma asked with a pleased lilt to her voice.

“You startled me.”

“Here.” Uma handed her the iPod. “Your brother’s in the kitchen.”

“Nick’s here?”

“He said he was your brother, although, I’d never guess from appearances. With his light hair and blue eyes, he’s so--”

“Aryan?”

“You mock me.”

“No. It wasn’t a political comment. I meant his physical appearance fits the typical stereotypes most people have of Nordic looks.”
“True,” Uma replied, studying Charlotte’s face.

Charlotte knew what she was thinking. Why do you look so different? She’d heard those questions for years. She’d tired of explaining. I look like our mother, and Nick took after our father. It happens.

Uma didn’t ask those questions. She bluntly inquired, “Were you adopted?”

Idiot. Charlotte ignored the question and jogged off to the kitchen.

Her brother and his friend, Jeff, sat facing the screen door with a view of the sea. They passed a pair of binoculars back and forth. Where they found the glasses, she didn’t know. Nick had a talent for finding all sorts of stuff. As kids he constantly came home with odd things he discovered, jewelry lost on the beach, toys buried in playground sandboxes, orphaned squirrels in the woods.

Nick held the binoculars to his eyes, fixed on a single object. Jeff made a vain attempt to take possession of them. “Stop hogging the glasses.”

“Nick,” Charlotte said from the side entrance.

He handed the binoculars to Jeff and met her midway. Solid muscled biceps squeezed her ribcage in a bear hug.

“Look at you,” he said, releasing her. Nick stepped back. “Nice tan. You’re the color of honey. I’m jealous. I can see I’ll have to visit more often so I can catch up.”

“Dream on bro, not with your fair skin. If we were trees, you’d be a pale birch, me...a golden cedar. Too bad, so sad.”

“Hey, Case.”

Family and close friends called her Casey. Charlotte turned toward Jeff. She’d known him since her teens. He played football with Nick in high school and was her first “serious” crush. She was fourteen. He was seventeen and had a midnight blue van with the solar system air-brushed on the side in neon colors. She thought it was the coolest van, ever. Both her sets of parents quickly informed her that even if she was old enough to date, which she wasn’t, she would not be allowed to see any boy who owned a van, no matter how “cool.”

After college, Nick and Jeff joined the police department and were now partners on the SWAT team.

Jeff came over and hugged her in strong arms but without the rib crushing power of Nick.

“How are you?” she asked, when he let go.

“I’m good.” He took a step back and gave her the once over. “You’re looking pretty great.”

“I’m sure I don’t. I’ve been diving and sitting in the wind but I’ll take the compliment.”

“Speaking of diving, who’s the blonde sea goddess,” Nick asked, pointing. “Introduce us.”

Charlotte glanced outside. The midday sun backlit Ursula peeling off her wetsuit on the camp’s pier.

“Forget it. That’s Ursula Schweiger, and neither of you can afford her. She has a super rich boyfriend. He’s stopped by a couple of times in a yacht the size of a battleship.”

“The captain of the SS Viagra doesn’t scare me.”

“What makes you think he’s old? There are lots of rich, young men too.” Charlotte couldn’t see Ursula with an old lover.

“A hundred dollars says he’s got twenty years on her,” Jeff chimed in.

“I’ve never seen him. He sends a tender from the yacht to pick her up. But you shouldn’t assume.”

“I’m not looking to support her, just distract her for a night or two,” Jeff said with a wink. He walked across the room and put the binoculars on a shelf near the sink. When he returned to the table, he sat on the opposite bench.

“Come on, Case. We’re fun guys. She’ll have a good time.” Nick nudged her.

“No way. Ursula and I get along fine. I won’t have you spoiling things. You’ll fill her head with sexy nonsense, and then split, and I’m stuck with the messy aftermath. I know how the two of you are.”

Nick feigned offense. “That’s not our fault. Chicks see us at work in our SWAT regalia, or just hear Special Weapons and Tactics and get misty between the thighs. They hit on us. What are we supposed to do? Say no? Get real.”

“My brother, the slut.”

Teasing and joking time was over. The two were here for a reason. Nick knew how involved she was with this project. He wouldn’t drop in on a whim.

“Forget Ursula, why the visit, and how on earth did you find me?” Charlotte laid the iPod down and sat next to Nick.

“We went to Bodrum first. The MIAR staff directed us here. We didn’t stop to find a hotel and drove straight to the village, parked and hiked the rest of the way. The drive was quite an adventure. Someone needs to tell these folks the lines painted on the pavement aren’t road graffiti. They have a purpose.”

“Cut to the chase, Nick. Why are you here?”

“What do you think? You’re almost killed in a boating incident, which was no accident. The other boat mysteriously explodes. Then the guy you’re with on the gulet dies under suspicious circumstances. Naturally, we’re all concerned for you.”

She was taken aback. “Why do you think his death was suspicious? I only told mom and dad he drowned.”

“I’m a cop, remember? I know when a story doesn’t ring true. I called an FBI friend. He called a friend in Interpol. The Greeks are investigating his death as a possible homicide.”

The surprise must’ve shown on her face. She knew they considered the boat incident fishy. But the last she heard Ekrem’s death was believed to be an accident.

“They questioned me at the time. I didn’t care for their attitude. They treated me as though I was involved in illegal activity. If Ekrem’s death is ruled a homicide, I go from witness to ‘person of interest,’ don’t I?”

She thought about this new twist. Atakan had to have heard. He hadn’t said anything, which she hoped was a good sign. The Greeks were another story. If they came to the camp asking questions, implicating her role, however innocent in a murder, what would the fallout be with the MIAR staff?

From the dock, the loud engine of the boat that shuttled Ursula to camp rumbled. The diesel noise faded as it pulled away returning to the Suraya with more divers.

Worse possibilities than her position on the project came to mind. “I’m scared. Nick,” she said, her panic level rising. She had no idea what, if any, criteria the Greek government used to arrest someone. “Ask your friend to talk to Interpol again. Make sure I’m not a suspect.”

“Calm down.” Nick wrapped his arm around her. “The investigators will re-interview you and Heather, and the crew. That’s S.O.P. Tell them the truth. Nothing’s changed from the original statement. Look, if they had any evidence to incriminate you, they’d have detained you already.”

She kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks. This whole situation is surreal. I’m at wit’s end.” Nick’s assurance settled her nerves. He knew how investigations were conducted. If he thought she was in trouble, he’d tell her.

“Talk to the Interpol guy anyway,” she said, in another fleeting moment of panic.

“It won’t help. He told my agent friend everything he knew about the case. I figured the Turkish authorities probably had useful info since Ekrem was their employee. We stopped at the Ministry office in Istanbul before going to Bodrum. I badged them so they knew I was a cop. I explained the situation and my concern for you. I hoped they’d be co-operative and share what they knew, professional courtesy and all. No dice. They politely, but firmly, gave me the boot. Without connections, I’m stuck. No one will talk to me.”

As if on cue, Atakan came in with the thermos and cups.

“I know someone we can ask. Atakan--” Charlotte waved him over. “I’d like you to meet my brother and a friend of our family’s.”

His brow arched slightly. “Oh, am I allowed to speak to you now?”

“Just come here, please. This is important.” She slid over on the bench making space between her and Nick for Atakan to sit.

“Nick, Jeff, this is Atakan Vadim, my dive partner. He’s an archaeologist and the Ministry of Culture’s representative. Ekrem was his friend and co-worker.”

The men shook hands and Atakan sat in the empty spot.

“Atakan, my brother and Jeff are police officers in Chicago. I told them everything about the night Ekrem died. Nick heard through sources of his the Greeks think Ekrem was murdered. I know from our conversation the next day you thought it odd, considering his expertise as a swimmer. Have you heard anything? Has his death been classified a homicide?”

Atakan showed no reaction. He turned to Nick without answering Charlotte. “What sources did you hear this from?”

“I can’t give you a name. He was a friend of a friend,” Nick said. “Look, I understand how painful it is to lose a partner and I’m sorry about Ekrem. Since the case has taken a criminal turn, what are the ramifications for my sister? My family’s worried.”

“You told me not to worry,” Charlotte injected.

Nick shot her a hard, impatient look. “I meant it. I know how we handle things in Chicago. As a precaution, I’m simply verifying the rules here are basically the same.

“She’s innocent, but who’s to say how the investigators will spin things?” he said, talking to Atakan again. “You work with her. You’ve gotten to know her. Like you, she’s a science geek. No offense.”

“None taken.”

“We both know she isn’t involved in this crime.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Atakan asked. “The murder is not our jurisdiction.”

“You must know how the Greeks operate. I don’t want Charlotte sitting in an Athens jail while they figure out she isn’t a suspect.”

The designation of ‘suspect’ by Nick sent panic alarms off in Charlotte, again. “Jail, how--”

“Case—”

“What? I’m not allowed to get into the conversation? It’s my life you’re talking about. I have--”

Nick cut her off, “Case...please.”

“I’m sorry,” Atakan said, flatly. “I don’t understand what it is you want from me. I have no influence with them.”

“You can talk with your superior. Tell him she’s a victim and a witness, nothing more.”

“Victim?”

“Yeah. If she hadn’t escaped off the gulet in time, she might’ve drowned when it sank.”

“I’ll discuss the matter with Director Firat.”

“That’s all I ask.”

Charlotte breathed a sigh of relief, seeing Nick was satisfied. “Thank you. I know you...” She paused, uncertain how to express her gratitude; knowing Atakan wasn’t too fond of her. “Um...I appreciate the help. While we’re on the topic of help, we have a minor problem,” she said, happy to change the subject.

“What’s the trouble?”

“Nick and Jeff need a Bozburun hotel for a couple of nights and I don’t know the area very well. Can you suggest a place?”

“Yes. I’ll make arrangements and take you there.”

“That’d be great man, thanks,” Nick said.

“Don’t forget to bring a friend when you come back,” Jeff said.

“Bring two,” Nick teased.

“Victory passes back and forth between men.”

The Iliad

Chapter Thirteen

Atakan marked the transition in Nick’s body language with mild interest. Nick’s genial, big-brother warmth went out the door with Charlotte. The smile disappeared. His expression was serious and cold as he turned back.

Atakan had a hunch what was next. When they talked now, Nick would use his cop persona, intimidating investigator to civilian. No doubt the hard-nosed approach was professionally effective.

Nick had physical size going for him among other advantages. Although Atakan considered himself respectably tall, sitting shoulder to shoulder, he guessed the American had a couple of inches on him. Nick was an easy twenty pounds heavier, muscular, and big-boned. At one time, Atakan would’ve envied him. He outgrew that vanity. He was strong, but lanky, and accepted the fact he wasn’t designed to possess more than modestly defined muscles.

Nick moved across from him and asked Jeff to keep an eye out for Charlotte. Jeff gave him a sharp nod and went to stand in the doorway. Nick rested his arms on his thighs and leaned forward. He flexed his fingers twice then clasped his hands loosely, letting them dangle between his legs in what Atakan assumed was some kind of interrogation ritual.

Atakan leaned his back against the table and struck a casual pose. Arms folded, he stretched his legs out positioning them under the bench deliberately near Nick’s.

Nick moved his leg a fraction farther away.

“I want your candid opinion on something. This conversation stays confidential though,” he ordered in a stern tone.

“Was that a request or a warning?” Atakan asked.

“Both.”

“Because you’re the tough guy and I’m just an archaeologist,” Atakan asked mildly. Tempted as he was, he didn’t challenge the American’s authoritarian attitude. It was a pointless and absurd tact in this particular situation.

“Curious approach on your part,” Atakan said, playing down his irritation, “...for a man who wants my co-operation.”

“It is what it is,” Nick said. “Look, it’s bad enough Casey...Charlotte,” he clarified, “is worried about the investigation. Between us, I know more than I claimed. I didn’t tell her because I don’t want her frightened too.”

“Understood. This remains confidential, as long as the agreement is mutual.” Atakan had no intention of revealing much. His demand of reciprocity was a matter of principal.

“Agreed,” Nick said. “I’m told the authorities believe a known Ukrainian contract killer might be behind the murder.”

“Your sources appear well informed. My organization would like to know who they are.”

“If this is a quid pro quo, all I know is the info came from contacts in Interpol.”

Nick’s knowledge of even that detail was impressive and not in a good way. The existence of a leak was disturbing news. Only a handful of people on each end of the investigation had access to the Tischenko angle...fewer in Interpol.

“Who told me isn’t important. The bottom line is I don’t want this Ukrainian coming after my sister because he thinks she has damning information.”

“Why would he think this? Does she?” Atakan wondered what information Nick thought she had.

“No. How could she? Like all you guys, she’s all about old stuff.”

“So, there’s no problem. What are you worried about?”

“I don’t know what your friend was involved in and I don’t want to know. I’m afraid whatever it was that got him killed might spill over. I don’t want Case getting swept up into the situation by mistake.”

Nick glanced at Jeff, who was listening to their talk, then back to Atakan. “Talk to me. Do you know anything about this alleged killer?”

Atakan thought for a moment before he answered. Based on what Nick already knew, he divulged only some additional general information. Facts Nick could learn for himself with a little more digging. “There is a man, a former Spetsnaz combat swimmer. Drowning, from what I hear by rumor only, is his method of assassination.”

“What’s his name?” Nick pressed.

“I don’t know. I am not privy to detailed intelligence data.”

“Can you try and find out?”

“No,” Atakan lied, distrustful of what Nick intended to do with the information. “Even if I could I wouldn’t reveal it.”

“If my sister’s in jeopardy, I want to know by whom.”

“So your wealthy stepfather can use his influence to meddle in Turkish affairs? Or so you can interfere in Turkish and Greek investigations?”

Nick leaned further forward. The space between the two tightened.

“Forget my stepfather. It’s me you’d deal with. I’m not going to screw up their investigation, but I will protect Casey by all means possible.”

Tactics. Atakan had used similar ones. He uncrossed his arms and straightened, pulling his legs back so he sat flat-footed. Whatever his purpose, Atakan resented Nick’s presumption and the underlying subtle threat. His arms on his thighs, he leaned forward to mirror Nick’s stance. They were inches apart.

“We are not a third world country,” he said, pushing back. “We are not a provincial and backward nation unable to protect our citizens or visitors here. Our police are as dedicated and efficient as any in Europe or America.”

“I didn’t slam your abilities. However, my sister is my priority, not your pride. If a member of your family was in danger, you’d do everything you could to protect them too. These Russians and Ukrainians are merciless.”

“I understand and sympathize. But, as a science geek, my expertise is in archaeology, not murder for hire killers.”

“Lousy answer.”

Atakan shrugged. “It is what it is.”

“That brings up an interesting point. Who’d hire someone to kill an archaeologist? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Scientists live in the real world. The same motives for murder...rivalry, jealousy, greed, exist for us. Why Ekrem, I can’t say for certain.”

Atakan intentionally kept his response vague. His unit favored revenge as a motive. Their internal speculations weren’t to be elaborated upon with outsiders.

“Heads up, Nick,” Jeff said as Ursula and Charlotte’s voices carried into the kitchen. “You got half a minute.”

Nick quickly asked, “Yes or no, do you think he’d come after Casey?”

Atakan put nothing past Tischenko, but he didn’t see him coming after Charlotte.

“I don’t see a reason, unless you know of one you’re not telling me.”

“I want your word, Atakan. If there’s a problem, you’ll call me.”

“You have my word, if there’s a problem, I’ll handle it.”

Nick didn’t look happy with the answer.

Chapter Fourteen

The conversation between the two men stopped when Charlotte and Ursula entered the room.

Charlotte introduced everyone.

“Nice to meet you.” Ursula shook hands with Nick.

Jeff held her extended hand rather than shake. “Say that again. Your accent is intriguing. I love the way those soft lips form that adorable ‘ou’.”

Charlotte rolled her eyes and whispered to Nick. “Did he just say her accent was intriguing?”

Nick shot her a crooked grin and nodded.

“It’s German.” Charlotte didn’t see the attraction.

“I think you are joking with me,” Ursula said, in a husky tone Charlotte hadn’t heard her use before now.

Jeff bent in close. “There are many things I’d love to do with you. Joking is way at the bottom.”

“Nauseating, yet morbidly fascinating,” Charlotte said under her breath. “He’s managed to charm an icy Teuton.”

Even Atakan looked amused, the hint of a smile on his face.

“You should see him on his home turf. He sweats the stuff. Not as well as me, of course. I exude charm and sincerity. It’s a gift,” Nick bragged.

“Insincerity you mean,” Charlotte quipped.

“Hey, I’m sincere at the moment.”

Ursula and Jeff exchanged a few more exaggerated compliments before she excused herself and left.

#

Charlotte and Atakan squeezed into the backseat of Nick’s rental car. Her knees pressed against the back of the driver’s seat. Atakan sat sideways, one foot on the floorboard under her legs and one on his floorboard as he directed the way.

The Artemis Hotel was a modest, white stucco seaside hotel. Tall, curved-topped, Moorish style windows trimmed in turquoise paint softened the plain exterior.

“How pretty,” Charlotte said.

She stepped out of the vehicle and walked to the edge of the garden that bordered the parking lot. Beyond the flowering vines and olive trees was an unobstructed view of the Aegean. The deep blue surface was banded in orange and gold by the late afternoon sun. Beach chairs and tables lined the pebbled strip along the pier of moored speedboats bearing the hotel’s logo.

“I will do the talking,” Atakan said as they followed a stone path to the lobby.

Atakan and the desk clerk spoke in animated conversation, laughing every so often. Charlotte understood some of the exchange which centered on sharp, but funny, digs about the Parliament. They spoke too fast for her to catch all the words.

Jeff tapped her on the shoulder. “Case, I have a little gift for you.” He wheeled his bag with him and walked several feet away, gesturing for her to follow.

“I bought these at the duty-free at O’Hare. They’re Belgian. I thought you’d like them.” Jeff dug in a zippered side pocket of his carry-on and removed a box of chocolates. “They’re Belgian,” he repeated, handing the box to Charlotte.

“How sweet, thank you. I love chocolate candy.” She hugged the box to her chest. “I’ll open them when I’m alone in the dorm, so I don’t have to share. That’s awful of me, I know.”

She turned and started to walk away, but Jeff tugged her on the elbow.

“I wanted to ask you something.”

Charlotte waited for him to finish. Several seconds passed before she finally said, “What is it?”

“Between the university and your field work, you’ve spent a lot of time away. Now you’re here. Do you ever think about settling down and staying in Chicago? Maybe get a job with the Field Museum or teaching archaeology or history at one of the colleges?”

“Not really. Why?”

“Just curious...I...I...don’t you miss everyone?”

Charlotte never heard Jeff stammer. “Of course. Did my family tell you to ask that?”

“No. The question’s all mine.”

“This is where I want to be. There’s an amazing world under these waters. I couldn’t bear being cooped up in a museum basement, or worse, behind a window on public view while working on artifacts. I’d feel like I was inside a human terrarium. As far as teaching, I’d die inspiring others to go and do what I should be doing myself.”

“It isn’t just that, Case. I...”

He was stammering again. This wasn’t the straightforward Jeff she knew. What could be so hard to say? “Jeff, what are you really asking me?”

He touched his palm to her cheek. “I want you to come home.”

Given a million chances, she’d never have guessed that was what he’d say.

“We make a good couple,” he said. “We’ve known each other long enough to understand and accept our individual quirks. You’re one of the few women who gets my black humor. There’s trust and respect between us.” He rushed through the list as though he’d practiced it.

Charlotte tried to tease him away from what she dreaded he’d say next. “You’re flattering me. And to think a half hour ago, you were flirting with Ursula.”

“A man flirts with some women just because they’re there. Like Ursula. This isn’t bullshit Case. You’re not a passing flirtation. You’re the best woman I know.”

“Jeff--”

“I thought, if you came home, well, it doesn’t matter. You aren’t coming home anytime soon.”

There was resignation in his words. His gaze shifted to a spot over her shoulder.

Five years earlier, when many of her friends had married or were getting married, she’d proposed to Jeff. It was Nick’s birthday and she got stupid drunk. Alcohol emboldened, she’d stationed herself next to Jeff and suggested if neither eventually married other people, they should marry each other. Jeff agreed. Then, she propositioned him. A heated make out session ensued. What a great kisser. She planned on having sex with him until the room started spinning.

He drove her home and stayed through the whole awful night. He held her hair back as she threw up everything but her shoes. He helped her undress and put her to bed. A perfect gentleman, he kept the humiliation of her night over the toilet bowl and maudlin proposal a secret between them.

She loved Jeff, but she wasn’t in love with him. The fact didn’t stop her from consigning him as her backup man, in her mind. If nothing better turned up, she had Jeff. Lying to herself, she’d justified the action. Jeff agreed, so it’s okay. Asking him how he really felt about her was conveniently inconvenient.

She wanted to crawl into a deep hole. How the hell could she do that to this terrific guy? What a self-centered, demeaning thing to do to anyone, let alone someone you’re supposed to care for.

She was anything but the best woman he knew. Shamed, she had to tell him the truth. She didn’t love him the way he deserved to be loved.

“Jeff—-”

“Don’t.” He put a finger to her lips. “No explanations necessary.”

“Jeff, you deserve—”

He tipped his chin toward the desk. “Looks like Atakan’s finishing. Time to go.” With a light hand on the small of her back, he urged her forward.

The clerk handed Atakan a key and pointed to the far side of the hotel.

“You only have one key.” Nick looked wary. “This room has twin beds, right?” he asked as Atakan joined them.

“This is tourist season. They are fully booked with the exception of this last room. It’s a king bed. I’m afraid you’ll have to sleep together.”

Jeff frowned and stared at the single key like it was a hand grenade. “No, no, no, never gonna happen.”

“We’ll flip a coin for the bathtub,” Nick told Jeff.

“Come.” Atakan led the way. He didn’t crack a smile until after he opened the door and stepped aside. Charlotte suspected he was up to something.

“Twin beds. You knew all along. Very funny, Atakan,” Nick said and tossed his suitcase on the bed closest to the door.

Jeff set his bag on the other bed and headed for the bathroom. Charlotte was right behind him.

“Jeff, I--”

“Case—stop, I’m fine.” He kissed her on the forehead. “I rebound well.” Turning her around by the shoulders, he gave her a pat on the ass and said, “Now, get out of here, while I take a leak.”

He’d given her permission not to bury herself in guilt. It was so Jeff and one of the reasons she loved him. She returned to the bedroom feeling a little better for Jeff but still disgusted with herself.

Atakan relaxed in a wrought iron chair by a set of patio doors watching her, an unreadable expression on his face.

The impact of the last two hours hit her as she came into the room. Petalas thinks she’s a person of interest in a murder. Jeff thinks they should be a couple. Who knows what Atakan thinks?

Hands down, this was the strangest day of her life.

A blast of fresh salt air sounded excellent. She crossed the room, opened the French doors, and stepped outside.

Atakan followed.

“Nice view,” she said, as he stood next to her.

“All the rooms on this side have private patios that overlook the sea.”

Off to the right was a single building which replicated the hotel’s architecture. “Is that part of the hotel?”

“Yes. On the waterside there’s a bar and the restaurant is on the garden side. We’ll go there later, if you wish. The food is good, lots of local fish. I thought you might like to take a short hike in the woods to Selale first.”

“What is that?” Charlotte asked.

“It’s a local site with a hillside waterfall that empties into a deep pool with wildflowers all around, very peaceful and pretty. Tourists like it. Afterward we can stroll through the town.”

Nick and Jeff joined them on the patio.

“Waterfalls and wildflowers?” Nick smirked. “I admire your ability to tap into your feminine side with such enthusiasm.”

“’Feminine side?’ No woman lives in me. I was merely thinking your sister might enjoy a bit of nature.” Atakan gave her a crooked smile that was more the grimace of a man stuck in the butt with a knitting needle.

She hadn’t known Atakan long, but long enough to know he was not a waterfalls and flowers kind of guy. He simply had no idea what to do with them when he rattled off Selale. She also knew the suggestion had nothing to do with her. It had almost a romantic aura. That would be a little too strange, and she’d already reached her quota for strange today.

Chapter Fifteen

“I’m ready for a drink, not to mention ravenous,” Charlotte said.

The four weaved their way through the Artemis’s popular restaurant. The loud crowd at the bar sounded like a U.N. watering hole. Charlotte picked up bits and pieces of conversations in French, Italian and German, in addition to Turkish. Ceiling speakers played a cut from the old Madonna album, Ray of Light. One of Charlotte’s favorite songs, Skin, was from that CD.

“Merhaba,” the bartender called to them over the noise.

Atakan didn’t hear him and continued toward the less busy rear section of the restaurant.

Charlotte stopped. “Hello.”

“Lady, how many are you?”

She held up four fingers.

The bartender pointed. “There’s an open table by the door.”

“Thanks.”

Charlotte hooked Atakan’s arm and redirected him to the far corner. She sat next to Nick on the waterside. Atakan and Jeff sat opposite, facing the bar. Overhead, oval and pear shaped Ottoman style lamps hung on chains from the ceiling. Their mosaics of colored glass cast the bar’s patrons in yellow and blue and red lights. The red hue of the lamp above Charlotte’s table gave the four of them a first degree sunburn appearance. Pink skin was better than the table of customers next to them who looked jaundiced under the light of a yellow lamp.

Atakan ordered Efes beers for everyone.

“No beer for me. I hate beer. You’ve never seen me drink it at camp,” Charlotte said. Not very observant for a scientist, since she was the only team member who didn’t drink it. “Let’s split a bottle of wine.”

“Share the wine with your brother or Jeff. I’ll have beer.”

“They don’t drink red wine. Come on, please split the wine with me.”

Atakan shook his head no, which didn’t faze Charlotte. After much cajoling from her, he canceled his Efes and reluctantly agreed to share a bottle of Kavaklidere wine.

“Why is drinking wine alone a problem? Why must I drink it too?” Atakan grumbled.

“Don’t get testy. It isn’t served by the glass. If I order the whole bottle, I’ll look like a boozer,” she explained.

“Boozer, another strange word. Is it the same as floozy?”

“No. It’s someone who drinks too much, too often.”

Atakan cracked a smile, not the usual polite, pleasant kind. This was the slick, lecherous kind.

“I have met floozies. Quite charming, in their own way,” he said to Jeff. “A boozer-floozy, now this woman I’d be very interested in meeting.” He grinned bigger and told Charlotte, “If you see any in the room, please point them out.”

“Please find two,” Jeff added.

Nick joined in. “What am I, invisible? Find three.”

“I’m not a drunken tramp detector. Find your own,” Charlotte snapped back.

Atakan wasn’t listening. His focus was fixed on something across the room. “Did you invite Ursula to meet you here?” he asked Jeff.

“No. You heard everything I said. But, I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“That’s what the Trojans said,” Atakan warned, straight faced.

Charlotte and Nick twisted in their seats. Ursula and Uma waved and began to make their way to the table.

Jeff slid his chair back and started in their direction. “In the words of Stephen Stills, ‘love the one you’re with,’” he said, as he passed by Charlotte.

She was glad for Jeff. He’d have fun with Ursula. On the other hand, Uma’s appearance was a drag.

“Don’t you dare encourage Uma to sit here,” Charlotte elbowed Nick hard in the ribs.

“Why not? She’s hot, in an electric, finger-in-a-socket, sort of way.”

“Oh please, she’s a punk version of the Sorcerer’s Apprentice. I can’t stand her. She’s always creeping around. It gives me the willies.”

“Shh.”

Jeff invited the sisters to join them, offering Ursula his chair, which she accepted. Nick rose and gave his seat to Uma, ignoring the ugly face Charlotte gave him behind Uma’s back.

The waiter brought two more chairs to the table.

Trays of food, mixes of different dishes were ordered. Everyone sampled a little of each, except Charlotte, who greedily scarfed down all the hummus.

Uma cloaked her snarky observation of Charlotte’s appetite for the dish behind a sweet voiced offer. “How you’ve devoured that, quite the piggy at the trough. I make excellent hummus. I will make some special for you.”

“Please, don’t. If you make a dish, then do it for the group. It wouldn’t look right to sneak off with a dish of my own, don’t want to get caught with my snout in the bowl.”

“You’re sure?” Uma ran a slow hand up and down Nick’s back as she talked.

He moaned when she stroked his spine and scooted his chair closer, to Charlotte’s disgust.

“Yeah, I’m sure, but thanks anyway.”

Uma turned to Nick and squeezed his bicep with her fingertips. “You’re very strong. What do you do for a living?”

“Jeff and I are cops-SWAT to be exact.”

“SWAT, I’m impressed.”

“Tell us about some of the dangerous criminals you’ve arrested,” Ursula asked Jeff. She looked almost girlish.

The request opened a Pandora’s Box of war stories. Nick and Jeff went back and forth trying to agree on which incident to tell first.

Charlotte sipped her wine between bites of food. She finished the kebab she’d been nibbling and caught Atakan’s eye as she reached for the wine to pour a second glass. He grabbed the bottle first and corked it. Like a waiter, he slid the stems of their glasses between his fingers, underhand, and pushed his chair back.

“Let’s go for a walk,” he said.

Glad to get away from Uma and tales of cops and robbers, Charlotte quickly agreed. SWAT stories didn’t hold the same entertainment value for her as they did for most people. The stories scared her. She hated to see news clips of cops in pursuits, let alone shootouts, or hostage situations. Her mother was worse.

Nick reassured both of them he was well trained and paid strict adherence to the officer safety rules. “You’ve nothing to worry about.” He promised if the day came when he couldn’t handle the work either physically or mentally, he’d ask for reassignment.

Time and promises didn’t ease Charlotte’s worries. In her travels, she’d seen churches of many denominations, great catholic cathedrals, humble protestant chapels of stone, and blue-domed, white-washed Greek orthodox churches. She visited them for their history or their architectural interest. In each, if possible, she lit a candle for Nick and Jeff. She wasn’t religious or superstitious. It was a silly practice. There was no scientific proof the ritual worked, but she wanted to believe it might help.

Chapter Sixteen

“Can we walk along the water?”

“That was my intention.” Atakan led Charlotte out a rear door.

They walked in silence past a handful of economy hotels. Beyond the roof of the last one, the glow from the village lights shrouded the dark hills in a milky haze.

Atakan stopped at a weathered and rickety looking pier where only the local fishing boats were tied. Three fishermen sat on the bow of the Deniz Yagmacisi, the Sea Raider. From the rust streaks and peeling paint, the glory days of the “Raider” ceased long ago. A lantern hung on a hook and lit the bow. Its frayed cord was duct taped to the plug of another frayed cord, which connected to the generator. Cigarette smoke engulfed the rail-thin men on deck. They laughed and chatted, unconcerned over the flurry of ashes falling onto the alphabet tiles of their OK game.

Atakan interrupted them and asked if they could spare a blanket. The thinnest of the men eyed Charlotte, grinned, and said yes. She stepped up to catch it. The fisherman ignored her and tossed a knitted throw to Atakan who caught it one-handed.

Together she and Atakan spread the blanket over the rough edge at the end of the pier. They made themselves comfortable, setting the wine between them and letting their legs dangle.

Charlotte listened to the water lap against the pilings and the rhythm of the waves beyond the jetty. All the hours she spent in and around the water, she rarely stopped to listen to it. The opening bars of Waterloo drifted over to the dock drowning out the water.

She turned toward the beach hotel where the music came from. A Speedo wearing disc-jockey worked the turntable on the patio. Tourists packed the space dancing and singing to the ABBA tune.

Charlotte swayed in time to the song and softly sang along to the lyrics. ABBA was one of her mother’s favorite bands. Growing up, she’d heard their music a lot.

“Here.” Atakan tapped her arm with the wine glass. “Madonna, now ABBA. It must be oldies night.”

“Thank you,” Charlotte said, taking the glass. “The DJ’s playing ABBA because everyone likes to dance to them. You dance?” She was pretty certain she knew the answer but asked anyway. You never know, people are full of surprises. And, it was a day of surprises.

“No. You?”

She shook her head.

“Never?”

“A couple of times in college. It wasn’t pretty.”

She swallowed a sip of wine before asking him what was really on her mind. “Why’d you invite me for a walk?” As bizarre as the day was so far, nothing he said could make it any weirder.

“You looked uncomfortable. I thought you’d enjoy a temporary escape.”

“I was. I don’t like hearing about Nick’s job.”

“Or some of the company at the table either.”

“True.”

Take his explanation at face value and leave personal feelings out of the conversation. That was the smart play. Instead she blurted, “I must say, I find your desire to rescue me an interesting twist since you don’t like me.” It was the vibe she got from him.

A brief look of surprise crossed Atakan’s face. “I don’t dislike you. Why do you think this?”

She’d opened her big mouth. Now she had to explain.

“Until today, you’ve never gone out of your way to talk to me except to discuss matters related to the recovery. You’re more relaxed with the other team members. You laugh and talk easily with them. I can’t help but notice.”

“That bothers you?”

Yeah, it bothered her. In truth, their relationship need only be courteous and professional. Still, every once in awhile it stung.

“Your antipathy is understandable. I’m a reminder of Ekrem’s death,” she said, skipping a direct answer.

“You’re right and wrong. First, let me disabuse you of your belief about Ekrem. Your presence is not the reminder. He was like a brother to me. His absence in my life is the reminder of my loss.”

The pain behind his words made her wish she hadn’t brought Ekrem up.

“As to this project, I avoid the deep comradeship that forms with many teams. I’m friends only with Refik and Talat.” Atakan went on, “I keep a necessary distance. My conversations with the other men are casual and superficial.”

“Because of your job?”

“Yes.”

“Do you envy the comradeship?”

“No. The integrity of the site and artifacts are my sole concern. If either is compromised or Ministry rules violated, I must take action.”

She understood the difficulty of his position. “Stay objective---don’t get close.”

“Yes.”

“What about the women?” She wondered why he only mentioned his dealings with the male team members.

“If you noticed, I don’t socialize as much with them as the men.”

She had but wasn’t going to admit it. “You ever find yourself attracted to the women you work with?”

“Ministry rep. or no, I’m still a man,” he said, with a chuckle. “Of course, there are women I am drawn to, but I don’t act on my interest.”

She’d love to ask him what sort of woman he was drawn to. She would if she thought he’d give her a straight answer. But he’d probably never tell another woman. He’d tap dance around the question with some esoteric, non-committal dodge.

“Again, maintaining your distance is more expedient for enforcement purposes,” she said, playing a neutral role. “Plus, with women, there are often messy, emotional loose ends if things go wrong.”

“For one. Also, I am a private man. If I showed favoritism, tongues would wag. I refrain from such childishness.”

Good point. Like this one, everyone on her previous recovery team was fairly young. They worked and lived closely together. Men...women—things happen. It didn’t take long for intimate relationships to form, then split up and the lovers to move onto another. The adult version of musical chairs.

“I’m glad to know your distance isn’t personal or related to Ekrem. However, this rescue effort tonight...” With a sweeping, open-handed gesture, Charlotte indicated their intimacy. “Your rule about women and gossip is down the toilet. We’re both grist for the rumor mill now. Uma and Ursula will tell everyone you and I wandered off together.”

“No doubt,” he said, matter-of-factly.

“Yet, in spite of your gossip phobia you asked me out here. What’s the real reason other than I looked uncomfortable?”

“I wanted to talk to you in private. Wagging tongues weren’t as important.”

“Shoot.”

“When you went to change clothes, did you mention where we were going to Uma or Ursula?”

“No, they weren’t around. No one was. Even if they had been, I didn’t know the name of the hotel. I ran into Ursula walking back to the kitchen. Why?”

“I find it strange they just happened to wind up here.”

“How so? It’s not a long drive. The village is cute. The bar is nice. It’s certainly popular.”

“It’s popular with tourists. In my experience, these teams, when they leave the camp, eat and drink locally. There’s a café within walking distance. If they wanted to go out of the area why come to Bozburun? There are closer villages.”

What was he getting at? She thought about the surprise appearance of the twins. She considered the extent Atakan went to, to bring the matter up with her in private.

“You think they came here because we did?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m not seeing why that disturbs you. I guess they wanted to see Nick and Jeff.”

“I believe this was more than a hook-up.”

Hook-up? Hearing Atakan use the term sidetracked her. It was so out of character. He never used slang. He always came across as a bit of a stiff. She couldn’t decide if that was part of his personality or if it resulted from learning the more formal version of English in school. Where’d he learn this particular colloquialism? She swung her legs around and sat cross-legged opposite him.

“Wait, wait, wait. Time out.” She jabbed her fingers to her palm, like a quarterback facing fourth and inches. “Hook-up? You need blab, boozer, and butt-head explained, but you know ‘hook-up’?”

“Sex and the City was my ex-girlfriend’s favorite show.”

The thought of Atakan sitting through the sitcom was perversely funny. “Sex and the City. Sweet,” she said, smirking.

“You’re laughing at me.”

“You know, it’s considered a chick show in America.”

“I was trying to get along.”

“Very open-minded, I’m impressed,” she said with exaggerated sincerity. “I can picture you sharing the sofa, listening to Sarah Jessica Parker and the rest rattle on about shoes and pubic waxes.”

“I never said I watched. I said it was my girlfriend’s favorite show. I overheard the term while I busied myself with other tasks. Can we get back to Uma and Ursula? If they simply wanted to join us they could’ve asked. They didn’t. How’d they find us?”

Fun talk over, Charlotte returned to the subject. Without foreknowledge and eliminating the illogical, like coincidence, she didn’t have a good explanation. Atakan’s questions suggested one answer was obvious.

“They had to follow us.”

Chapter 17

Now that Atakan pointed it out, the appearance of the twins nagged Charlotte. Why hadn’t Ursula asked to join the group when she had the chance? Jeff gave her the opportunity. He’d made his interest obvious. She’d returned his flirtation in that joking way women do when they’re not planning for things to go further. What changed? What prompted Ursula to pursue him?

Atakan swallowed the rest of his wine in one gulp. “We should get back.”

Charlotte nodded and finished her wine.

They gathered the glasses and bottle and returned the blanket to the fishermen.

“You didn’t comment on my deduction they followed us. What’s your thought? Why?” Charlotte asked as they walked back.

“Nothing to say, other than I agree. I’m puzzled as to why myself.”

When they reached the bar, Atakan handed the empty bottle and glasses to a waiter serving the outdoor tables. “Go ahead inside,” he said. “I’ll join you in a minute.”

Charlotte started for the door, then turned. “Since we’re talking about how Uma and Ursula arrived here, we need to figure out how we’re getting to camp. Nick can’t take us. He’ll never find his way back on these country roads.”

“The hotel has a private car and driver for hire. I’ll book them after I make a call.”

“What if Uma and Ursula want to ride too?”

“You really think they want to return tonight?” Atakan asked as though speaking to a child.

“The logistics of staying is at best, difficult. The room has only twin beds.” Some observations don’t require a verbal response. The ‘you can’t be that naïve’ look Atakan gave her came across loud and clear.

“Ursula’s a good distraction for Jeff. He can use it tonight.”

Did Atakan know what happened? “Meaning?” she asked, testing him.

“Do I need to say?”

“How’d you know? You were busy at the front desk.”

“I’m not blind. I can talk to the clerk and be aware of my surroundings. I noticed your private conversation and the body language. Nor am I deaf. I heard what he said to you at the table.”

“I never meant to hurt him.”

“He’ll get over it. Ursula’s a good start.”

“She has a rich lover. She might not want to ‘close the deal’ with Jeff,” Charlotte reasoned. “Uma and Nick...ugh.” She wrinkled her nose emphasizing her distaste.

Atakan ignored the face. “Close the deal?”

Charlotte opened her mouth to explain, but he cut her off. “Never mind, I get the implication. Ursula’s lover isn’t around, if you take my meaning. As to Uma and your brother, it didn’t look like she was forcing herself on him.”

“Yeah well...”

“What do you care? They’re having a good time together, not getting married. Leave him alone.”

“Fine. Whatever. Go, make your call,” she said and went inside.

He moved to the corner of the patio, out from under the light of overhead lanterns that lit the space. He watched the foursome as Charlotte rejoined them. The lively conversation continued after she sat down. Of the four at the table, only Ursula turned and looked through the windows where he’d just stood.

The same waiter who took their wine glasses passed by and Atakan waved him over.

“Sir?”

“Were you working this afternoon?”

“Since lunch, yes.”

“See the two blonde women at that table.”

The waiter nodded.

“Did you happen to see them here earlier, before they joined our party?”

“Yes, I served them here on the patio shortly before you entered the bar. The spiky hair one,” he jerked his chin Uma’s direction and said with disgust, “she paid. No gratuity. Euro-trash.” The irritation left his face and he asked, “Can I get you a drink?”

“No, thanks.”

The young waiter plastered a smile on his face and hustled to a table of plump, middle-aged, inebriated female tourists.

Atakan walked to the front of the hotel, away from the rooms and their patios, where he wouldn’t be overheard. He dialed the Director at home.

“It’s late. I’m sure you have a reason for this call,” Firat said.

“I need a check on Uma and Ursula Schweiger.”

“Ursula Schweiger?” Firat repeated. “I understand she’s Stevan Kryianos’s lover. I don’t personally know him. He’s a close associate of Yasar Ozen, my curator friend. Why do you ask about her?”

Hearing her lover was a friend of a friend of the Director’s presented a potential complication. Savas Firat was very much a political animal. Kyrianos had no influence with Turkish officials. Yasar Ozen did. He was well connected to powerful people in the Ankara government, including the Minister of Culture, Firat’s boss. If Ozen asked Firat to discourage an investigation of the Schweigers, Atakan suspected the Director might go along. If Ozen went through contacts in Parliament, Atakan was certain Firat would dissuade him from looking at the sisters.

“I’m interested in both sisters. I’d like to know more about their background.”

“What’s happened?”

“Nothing specific but I’ve an uncomfortable feeling,” Atakan said, unsure of Firat’s response to the vagary.

“What’s going on with the Dashiell woman?”

“I haven’t discussed Waterman with her yet. There isn’t much to implicate her in the attack on Ekrem. Her brother arrived today. He knew the case was upgraded to a murder, which brings up another issue. Someone in Interpol with connections to the Greeks leaked the information to him. Charlotte wasn’t aware of the status until he told her.”

“Is the case compromised?”
“No, not yet, her brother isn’t above interfering though. Whoever the leak is, they told him about Tischenko.”

“How much does he know?” Firat sounded worried.

“He knows Tischenko is a Ukrainian killer for hire. He asked me very pointed questions. I remained vague, of course.”

“I’ll talk to the Greeks and Interpol about the leak. I don’t see how this problem involves the Schweigers. They’re not part of Ekrem’s investigation. To my knowledge, they never had contact with him professionally. Is there more to your request than an uncomfortable feeling?”

“Just my instinctive sense something strange is afoot with them. It may be nothing; still, I’d rather we did a check.”

“We ran a background before approving them, but I’ll assign someone to delve deeper. I’ll have a subtle conversation with Yasar about her. Take care of the Waterman-Dashiell issue soon.”

The cloying, sweet scent of Chanel No. 5 drifted over. The fragrance jolted Atakan out of the conversation. He couldn’t put a name to any other perfume, only that one. An ex-girlfriend applied it with abandon, in spite of his objections to her overuse. The phone to his ear, he turned. Behind him a couple walked arm-in-arm toward the gardens. Movement near the path where the couple came from caught his eye.

“Atakan,” the Director continued on the other end. “Are you there?”

“Yes,” he said low. “I have to go. I’ll call you back in a minute.” Atakan snapped the cell phone shut.

A flash of white, perfect teeth showed behind a faint smile as she crushed a cigarette under her foot.

“Atakan.”

“Ursula.”

Chapter Eighteen

The divers Charlotte and Atakan relieved had filled a long basket with several mortise-and-tenon pieces of hull. On deck, the teams who’d finished with their dives helped with the unloading. Large sections of the frame’s cedar planks remained missing. Everyone was thrilled with what they’d recovered, but hoped to locate more for the reconstruction.

“Are we collecting other hull sections?” Charlotte asked, climbing onto the deck ladder.

“No.” Refik handed her a chisel and hammer. “You two concentrate on the primary cargo area.

Charlotte took the tools and hooked them to a metal loop on her utility belt. She slid her mask down and adjusted the fit and then lowered herself down to the guide line.

Atakan followed.

Fast currents stirred the sand and silt from the seabed. The turbulence slowed their progress as they repositioned the stationary light. They’d dragged the cable across the bottom, disturbing the sand, briefly clouding the water more.

When the water cleared, miniscule marine creatures were fuzzy flecks of white as they drifted in the bright circle of light. In the dark blue world, the round light resembled the full moon in the night sky. The lamp lit the bubbles from their air hoses as the glistening spheres floated upward, like shooting stars.

Charlotte, weightless in the saltwater, thought of astronauts in space again. Ground Control to Major Tom, she hummed a jagged version of Space Oddity deep in her throat, interrupting the song as she joined Atakan.

They removed their fins and clipped them to their belts. Since they’d be inside the hold, it was a necessary precaution to work barefoot. Crustation made many artifacts hard to recognize by sight and too easy to unwittingly step on and damage. They’d slip their fins on again once they left the hold.

They concentrated on a roped off six-by-six section of the interior near the front of the hold labeled KC. All the grids had alphabetical designations that corresponded to the sequence in which the recovery operation was conducted.

Atakan stood with his hands on his hips taking in their area. She saw his chest rise and fall and a burst of bubbles escape his mouthpiece with his sigh. They exchanged a look of mutual understanding. Dozens of sealed amphoras poked out. They could contain anything, the remains of fruit for export or import, seeds, or spices. Analysis of the contents would aid in narrowing the time frame the ship sank. Detailed analysis might even identify the originating port. This was the upside. There was a downside. Many of the jars were embedded in rocks from a long ago slide and crusted over. Removal required laborious hammer and chisel work.

They chipped away on a medium sized amphora. The color was the same as previously recovered pottery, Anatolian Grey. Every piece from the region excited Charlotte. She hoped for one definitive thing linking them to the besieged Troy. One tiny link she could email Mortensen about. She tapped at the crust daydreaming of what they’d find inside this one. Olive oil and wine was generally transported in larger clay vessels. A jar this size might contain valuables other than foodstuffs. Beads, jasper, or lapis-lazuli were common trade items.

Small chunks of crust broke free as they worked opposite sides of the same piece. She chiseled off at least a little of the rough caking with every tap, unlike Atakan who struggled with a stubborn layer. She glanced over when he stopped suddenly and stepped back, scanning his immediate area. She’d love to ask what he was contemplating. Two of the most frustrating aspects of the underwater operation for her were the inability to talk and the time constraints.

He slipped his fins on and climbed on top of the pile of sharp-edged volcanic stones. The higher position gave him better leverage. Now as he chiseled, larger chunks came off the jar’s body.

The hull creaked and moaned around them followed by an eerie rumble, deep and low. It reminded her of a subway train approaching the tunnel but still out of sight. They both stopped to listen. Without knowing what generated the noise, they were ready to swim away from the wreck if necessary. The noise subsided and they continued chiseling.

Coarse-grained pebbles tumbled down near Charlotte’s work space. Atakan adjusted his stance. He tested the stability, and then wedged one foot into the crevice between the jar and splintered decking planks. He bent closer over the curved surface.

A loud crack sounded. Everything happened too fast, before either of them had a chance to react. The rocks Atakan stood on collapsed with the shift and ripped through a surviving portion of hull. He was kicking hard against the pull, but momentum from the rush of water through the gap dragged him along. He landed flat on the sea floor. Planks and rocks knocked him to the seabed again as he rolled onto his side. He tried to scramble to his feet but wasn’t fast enough. The debris spilled into the area around him and on top of him. Caught under the wood and stones from the thigh down, he fought to free himself.

Charlotte dropped her tools and kicked fast toward the bottom. The second rush of falling rocks temporarily forced her back, out of their path. It was over within seconds and she swam to Atakan.

Thousands of bubbles swirled in front of his face mask before rising. If he were panicked, he’d be engulfed in them. Charlotte had dived with students and friends who, for one reason or another, became frightened. Every time, their breathing changed to rapid, puppy-like pants. The surge of bubbles from Atakan came in measured bursts. They streamed out with each hard breath as he tried to wrench his trapped leg free.

Chapter Nineteen

A cold shot of fear raced through Charlotte. A ribbon of green streaked the water around Atakan’s ankle. Colors disappear from the spectrum at different rates based on the depth of the seawater. Red is the first to change and looks green. The blood swirl had a ghostly, lava lamp quality as it moved toward the surface.

Had the shipwreck been in colder water they might’ve worn full wet suits. A scorching, week-long heat wave had turned the sea temperature bath tub warm, unlike the camp’s shower water. All the divers shunned the jumpsuit style suit opting for the cooler shorty that left them bare-legged. A few cuts and bruises were worth the trade-off for the comfort.

She unfastened the orange emergency balloon to signal the boat crew and designated rescue divers topside.

Atakan shook his head no and mimed for her to help him move the rocks.

She questioned his assessment. She’d prefer additional aid. The wood bore damaged planks didn’t worry her. She was confident they’d move those with ease. The heavier rocks concerned her. He thought them capable of handling the problem. She hesitated, and then gave in, trusting his judgment.

Next to him now, she saw several thin, green strands from other small abrasions. Afraid of worse injuries, she fingered the balloon again. He read her mind and made a downward motion flat-palmed. She understood. He was telling her to stay calm.

She tugged on her gloves, checked the time left, and hurriedly began moving the stones off. The larger ones, too heavy for her to lift, she pushed and pulled or rolled away. The awkward angle he was trapped at restricted Atakan’s ability to use all of his strength. When the rocks were within his reach and at the right position, he levered as many off as she did. Between the two of them, he was freed within their limited time.

He staggered to his feet, tested the injury to his leg and gave the thumbs up sign. She hoped he was right. On land, he’d hop on the leg applying different amounts of weight. With the buoyancy factor in the water, she worried he couldn’t accurately evaluate the seriousness.

She returned the signal and then knelt to see how bad the bigger cut was. The vertical slice was straight, about palm’s width long, but didn’t appear deep. A sharp rock had nicked the vein above the bone causing the spurt of blood she’d seen. It bled little now, which she took as a good sign. No stitches would be required, no reason to sideline him.

They collaborated well underwater. They’d developed a shorthand system. They stayed in sight of one another so neither had to worry about the other going off to explore solo. If one of them wanted to split away and investigate something, it was by agreement. The partner stood close in case a problem occurred. After the long talk on the pier, their land relationship was better, less formal and routine. She didn’t want another partner.

He checked his watch and held up three fingers. She found her hammer and chisel where she’d dropped them. He mimed his were missing and searched the sand between and under the rocks. His tools were MIA when they split for the first decompression stop. The lost tools didn’t worry her. What did worry her was how Refik would react to the accident.

On deck, they warned the next team about the instability of the environment around the cliff and slide site. They stripped off their wet suits and went to find Refik to report the incident. They found him in the Suraya’s desalination area inspecting the lab trays of artifacts soaking in fresh water.

“Have the doctor look at your ankle,” Refik told Atakan.

“I’m fine. A minor cut.”

“This is not a democracy. See the doctor.”

Atakan raised his hands in surrender.

“A couple of things before either of you go,” Refik said and turned to Charlotte.

For a brief moment, she thought they’d been spared his harsh recriminations. That fantasy disintegrated in a flash. The grim set of his jaw and the severe look he gave both of them sent a clear message. We’re so screwed. More her than Atakan, whose prior relationship with Refik gave him some juice.

“Why didn’t you signal for help? In a dangerous situation, there’s no excuse for not requesting more divers.”

Refik directed the question to Charlotte.

“My fault, not hers,” Atakan interjected. “She started to send the balloon, but I stopped her. I knew my predicament wasn’t as bad as it looked. I believed, and I was right, that the two of us could free me.”

Refik shook his head as he listened, displeased with the explanation. When he didn’t say anything to Atakan in response, Charlotte feared he might send both of them packing.

“Given the circumstances, neither of you made the right decision. You especially,” Refik pointed at him, “know better. We’ve known each other a long time, but if you disregard the basic safety rules again, I will contact Director Firat and replace you.”

“Understood and I apologize,” Atakan said.

“You,” he pointed to Charlotte, “I will send home and notify the university why you’re no longer part of this team.”

“I’m sorry. I was wrong. I promise you, I won’t make the mistake again.”

“Good, now moving on, this slide business concerns me,” Refik said. “We judged the main hold stable.” He studied the survey map on the wall as he considered the situation. “The slope under the stern hold is far worse. I fear a slide anywhere in the rear cargo area might trigger disastrous effects. Considering the hull’s decayed condition and if the stern breaks free with divers inside...”

“We lose what’s inside,” Charlotte said. The lost opportunity to investigate the blocked section was a major concern.

“That section was least exposed to crew or passengers. For good reason, I bet. I don’t think it’s out of line to speculate the area contains the most valuable cargo,” she stressed.

Refik nodded. “I agree. However, what is the safest choice? For now, we concentrate on clearing the rocks from the area you worked today and continue the recovery operation. Those artifacts have tremendous value. We can’t say that for sure about the unexplored stern section.”

“But...” Charlotte interrupted. She was prepared to take the chance and go into the area alone. Atakan and a backup team could stand by outside the hold if something went wrong. All she needed was to remove a few of the stacked Rhodian amphoras blocking the entry.

Refik didn’t let her finish. “I must choose practicality over speculation when I weigh the risks. Nothing on this wreck is worth putting a member of the team in danger.”

Logic dictated a king’s treasure was not in the main hold. The chance of finding a definitive piece there was almost non-existent.

“I’m willing to take the risk. Let me--”

Refik shot her the “this is not a democracy” look and she shut up. “I haven’t made a final decision yet. Do not aggravate me,” he warned. “You,” he said to Atakan. “See the doctor--now.”

“I’m going.” Atakan started for the door.

“I’ll go with you,” Charlotte said. She’d give Refik some breathing room before his mood got worse.

They took the bow stairs to the deck below. Recessed equipment racks lined the narrow corridor. What was originally the ship’s galley MIAR staff converted, tearing out the kitchen appliances, sink and workstations. They utilized the space to house the tall, stainless steel container tanks for the diver’s air mix. The doctor’s closet-sized room was at the end of the passageway. Charlotte watched from the doorway as he swabbed disinfectant on Atakan’s cuts.

“I’m done,” the doctor said. “You’re good to go.”

“I knew I wasn’t hurt. I tried to tell Refik.”

“That’s between you two. I don’t want to know about it.” He waved Atakan away.

“You never thanked me,” Charlotte said as they returned topside.

“Thank you for what?”

“Saving your life.”

“Nonsense. You didn’t save me.”

“I did. Please, without my help getting the avalanche of rocks off your leg, you’d still be there flopping around like a wounded fish.” She affected a dark, ominous tone. “Maybe a moray eel seeing a vulnerable lump would venture from its crevice to torment you. All the while, your air supply growing low.”

“Vulnerable lump? Me? Me?”

“I’m speaking from the eel’s point of view.” It was hard to keep a serious look on her face and not crackup. She needed a laugh after the meeting with Refik.

“You’re a crazy woman,” Atakan argued, chuckling at the scenario she painted. “I’d have gotten free without your help...and in plenty of time.”

She shook her head. “No, you wouldn’t. You owe me a bottle of wine.”

“I do not.”

“Ingrate.”

“Thank you.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

“Wrong again. It is a step-up from butt head, is it not?”

Chapter Twenty

The shuttle boat dropped her and Atakan off at camp. They had a free hour of downtime before their lab assignment and afternoon dive. Both headed for their personal quarters.

She dug through the plastic ziplock bag she carried with her to the Suraya. Most of the divers brought baggies or child size backpacks with a small amount of necessities like lip balm, suntan lotion or sun block. She carried all three plus a travel-size hairbrush.

Charlotte rubbed another layer of aloe on her cracked and sore lips as she entered the women’s dorm. Between the sun and the saltwater, she was burning through the tubes of balm.

“Hi.” Ursula was applying makeup in front of a wall mirror above the dresser. She smiled and glanced over as Charlotte stretched out on her bed. “I’ve been dying to talk to you alone.”

“Why?” Charlotte asked, suspicions aroused. Her misgivings about the sisters hadn’t subsided since they followed her group two nights earlier.

“Fill me in on you and Atakan.”

“Pardon?”

“Is he good at sex?”

“I don’t know. We’re colleagues, not lovers.”

“Why not? He’s an attractive man, on the dull side, but I didn’t see that as bothering you.”

Charlotte was doubly offended. First, by the fact Ursula thought she and Atakan were dullards. Second, by her assumption Charlotte was so indiscreet as to discuss her love life. Ursula’s impertinent question also implied the sisters blabbed to everyone they were lovers. Atakan would put an end to any gossip once it got back to him. It wouldn’t put an end to what people believed.

“I’m not here for a fling. My entire dissertation is based on this wreck.”

Ursula tipped her chin and stepped closer to the mirror. Her lips parted slightly as she applied a thick layer of mascara to her lashes. “How unfortunate, I’m ready for some new gossip.”

“What is that smell?” Charlotte asked, propping herself on her elbows. “It stinks like rancid carrots.”

Ursula pointed to a bottle on the dresser. “My suntan lotion. It contains carrot oil and makes my tan look deeper. Stevan likes the bronzed look.”

“Are you seeing him today?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t feel any guilt about having slept with Jeff when you are involved with Stevan?”

Ursula snorted. “No. Stevan is old and flabby. Jeff is firm and possesses great stamina. If you know what I mean.”

“Got it.”

Ursula put her makeup away and looked herself over in the mirror one last time. She grabbed her purse and overnight bag and went to the door.

“In case you were wondering, Uma says your brother--.”

“Stop. For god’s sakes, don’t tell me about my brother’s sexual techniques. I don’t want to know that stuff.”

Outside the screen door, Ursula turned. “Uma says he’s open-minded and energetic,” she blurted and ran away laughing.

“Ah, jeez.”

Charlotte refused to dwell on unwanted information. She took out her laptop and checked her emails. A handful came in during the night while the team slept. The most recent was sent an hour earlier. With the time zone difference, it wasn’t dawn yet when Dr. Mortensen emailed. Now what, she wondered.

She’d already considered and decided against informing Dr. Mortensen that exploration of both holds might be postponed. She’d planned to send an update later at the project’s half-way point. Why hand him another reason to question her choice of dissertation subject matter this early? Now, she’d probably have to give him the bad news update, which sucked.

She skimmed through the family messages telling her of events at home and jokes from her friends. She put off reading the professor’s until last.

Charlotte,

I recently met with Dr. Auerbach. As they pertain to your theory, he is unimpressed with the artifacts recovered thus far. He expressed they are magnificent finds, in and of themselves. However, they do nothing to support your work. He’s considering withdrawing his approval. If this occurs, your dissertation proposal will be rejected by the rest of the committee. I have managed to talk him out of taking such a serious action for the time being. I sincerely hope you discover something substantial connected to Troy and/or the Iliad soon.

Best Regards,

Dr. Mortensen

“Auerbach, you tight-assed, arrogant, jerk-off, I hate you.” Charlotte sent the message to her trash bin and turned the computer off and stored it back in the carrying case. She rummaged through her dresser drawer mulling over what she’d argue if Auerbach withdrew support.

She pulled the box of candy Jeff gave her from its hiding spot under her lingerie and swimsuits. She’d limited herself to three pieces a day, trying to make the treasure last. She ate the first three the night she came back from the Artemis Hotel and three yesterday. She’d already eaten two that morning. However, limiting herself to just one more on a day when she received such crappy news from her professor was unrealistic. The message warranted at least two.

She plucked two plump, domed truffles filled with nuts and the most decadent crème centers from the box.

She popped one in her mouth and hid the box back in her drawer. She ate the second candy on her way to the kitchen looking for something else to eat.

Chapter Twenty-One

Eastern Mediterranean

Ursula winced. Stevan would leave fingertip bruises on her ass again. He assumed her sexual participation was included in their deal. It was the worst part of their bargain. He was the clumsiest of any of her lovers. His doughy-lipped kisses were mushy and sloppy. When they screwed, she stared at the ceiling, fantasizing. Her thoughts were on anything but him as his stubby fingers fumbled first with her nipples then between her legs. Today, she’d pretend it was Jeff inside her.

As much as Stevan repulsed her, she didn’t complain. His promised payday ensured her silence. Once she delivered the artifacts and the money was wired into a private account, she’d sever the relationship.

“What is that smell?”

“Suntan lotion with carrot oil.”

“Don’t use it again. You stink.” Stevan looked disgusted and released his clamp on her ass. “What news from the wreck?”

“Some interesting pieces, mostly pottery, weapons and precious stones, but no cylinder seals yet.”

“You’re still of the opinion you’ll find a few?”
“Yes. This looks to be a rich cargo, not typical of a standard merchant ship. The weapons are more ornate than serviceable. We’re guessing they’re valuable gifts.”

“Very good,” Stevan said, looking pleased. “When Yasar showed me the photos of the diptych we both agreed an envoy on a diplomatic mission was a passenger. If so, I’m certain you’ll find at least one seal, maybe more.

Ursula moved out of his reach. “And, if there aren’t?”

“My associate is paying for seals. No seals, no payday for me or for you.”

She stepped to the bar and poured a glass of wine. The salon’s cabinets of burled wood, polished to a high gloss, hid a media center. The same wood covered the counters around the wet bar. Not a speck of dust shone on the flat surfaces in the light from the large windows. Stevan ordered everything in the salon area and master cabin wiped down twice a day. Phones and doorknobs were sprayed with disinfectant every morning. No one was allowed to use his bathroom. She used a secondary bathroom attached to the bedroom. He conducted surprise inspections of the galley. He demanded the chef wear surgical gloves when preparing the food or risk dismissal.

Clean freak. Germ freak. Straight-up freak, but a wealthy one, she reminded herself.

Ursula’s barely decent cotton shorts rode high, the seam defining the separation between her cheeks. She loved showing off her great legs. Away from camp and the village, she indulged her preference for provocative clothing.

She hopped up onto the bar’s counter and wiggled backwards, suffocating a spiteful smirk as Stevan’s lips tightened into a thin line. The suntan lotion left large smudges on the wood. It’d drive him nuts.

She didn’t fuck the old bastard for free. Ursula started to tell him she’d better get some payment. She paused and kept quiet as a young Asian woman entered the salon. The servant brought a tray of snack food and set the platter on the coffee table. Ursula marveled at the delicacy of the woman’s hands with their childlike fingers unlike her own. The woman gave her a quick glance. A pronounced tip to her almond shaped eyes, a short but full mouth; she resembled a black-haired doll. Another plaything of Stevan’s, no doubt.

He waved the servant out. “What’s Dashiell like?”

“How do you mean? Professionally, she’s excited about the wreck. Pleasant personality, she gets along with everyone.”

“Is she pretty?”

“She’s not a raving beauty, but attractive enough to interest Atakan Vadim, the Ministry rep.”

“Really?” Stevan seemed lost in thought for a moment. He took a handful of pistachios from a bowl on the tray, shook them like dice before separating the shell from one with his front teeth. He spit the shell out onto a napkin and then cracked another one the same way. “Eat.”

Ursula jumped down from the counter and filled her palm with the plumpest dates. On top of those, she stacked two triangle shaped miniature sandwiches of kalamata olive paste and tomato. She liked the flavor contrast of the sweet dates and the salty brine of the olives. The combination revolted Uma.

A warm breeze from a double set of open sliding glass doors brought the fresh sea air into the salon. She leaned against the door frame, nibbling, watching Stevan, and waited for him to say more.

“You think they’re lovers?” he said at last.

“I accused Charlotte of that in a joking way. She denied it. I haven’t actually seen any intimacies pass between them. They don’t touch in any way other than platonically.”

“This is good. When she proclaims her innocence as the thief, he can’t be sure befriending him wasn’t part of her plan.”

“There’s more...” Ursula told Stevan about the night at the Hotel Aphrodite and the walk Charlotte and Atakan took alone. She also mentioned the private phone call he made.

“Did you hear the conversation?”

“Only a bit, he asked for a check on someone. I didn’t catch the name. A couple walked by, he saw me and clicked off.”

“You say her brother and his friend were visiting.”

She nodded.

“Perhaps Atakan was checking on them.”

“That’s my guess. I gather Nick, her brother, and his friend, Jeff, were worried about her after the gulet incident. They probably asked a bunch of questions and Atakan took the precaution of checking them out.”

“You think he knew you were listening in on the call?”

“No,” she said, certain he hadn’t. “Why would he? He didn’t have a reason to suspect me.”

“Did her brother tell you anything else useful? I assume you spent the night?”

“Uma latched onto her brother. I hooked up with Jeff.”

“Why’d you let Uma take the brother?”

She brushed the crumbs from her hands and retrieved her wine from the bar. “What was I to do? Jerk her out of the chair?”

Aggravated by Stevan’s imperious attitude, she moved past him and stood in the doorway. Off the starboard side, the hilly outline of Rhodes came into view. Of all the Greek islands, Rhodes was her favorite. She visited whenever her schedule allowed. Small pastel colored villas away from the harbor used by cruise ships were available at reasonable rates. The rental agency used the label villa very loosely considering anywhere else they’d be called cottages. She pictured the one she always requested. Perched on a hilltop with fruit trees, the sunflower yellow cottage had few amenities, but it cheered her. She glanced at Stevan. Was her payoff worth putting up with his arrogance and sexual ineptitude? Was it so terrible staying in the quaint villa rather than one of the grand resorts the money could afford her?

“What did the brother’s friend tell you?”

The question snapped her out of her thoughts. “They hoped to find out more about the events in Santorini. The circumstances of the sinking raised her brother’s suspicions.”

“Did he say if they learned anything?”

“I tried to press him, subtly, but got nothing.”

“You’re no Mata Hari.”

“If you want a spy, hire a Bond girl.”

She nursed her wine, curious about the reasons Stevan wanted Charlotte set up. “Did you know Charlotte was on the gulet at the time?”

“Yes.”

“Risky move, she might’ve been killed by mistake.”

“My goal was Ekrem. She was expendable to me. We’d find someone else on your team to put suspicion on. My associate would be the one upset if Dashiell got killed.”

“What’s his reason for making her look guilty?”

Stevan slid his hand under her shorts and panties and stroked her buttock with his thumb. “A personal vendetta.”

“Who’s your associate?”

“None of your business. Do your job and don’t ask questions.”
In spite of the warning, her curiosity was piqued. Who was the associate? How was Charlotte connected to them? Someone at the university perhaps, someone in the doctoral program who considered her a rival was the logical choice. Those programs limit the number of participants. Ursula decided to pry information from Charlotte in casual conversation. Maybe, with details, she’d deduce who it was and blackmail them. They’d likely pay for her silence.

“Come with me.” Stevan stepped onto the deck by the railing. “You said in the past, you like Rhodes. Would you like to go there instead of Marmaris?”

“No.”

Not with you.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Bozburun

Charlotte happily chipped away at the concretion, making steady progress with the amphora. Little by little, she worked the piece free. Better this tedious job than Atakan’s. He and the other men had rock pile duty. They slaved, removing the wall of stones that tore through the weakened hull. The larger stones were loaded into heavy gauge steel baskets attached to a lifting balloon for relocation. While the men cleared the area, the chisel work continued in the unthreatened grids until the main hold was deemed safe to resume operations.

The clean-up took several days in unseasonably rough waters. On the day they finally finished, the Suraya brought the men back in one trip rather than a few at a time. As soon as the ship anchored at the campsite, they scattered. Several headed for their bunks, most found a patch of shade to stretch out under and doze. Atakan snagged a grass mat from the storage tent and flopped down at the base of a mature olive tree.

“You look beat. Bet you’re glad that’s over.” Charlotte handed him a cold beer.

He grunted his thanks, took a swallow and lay down on the mat. Using his towel as a pillow, he rested the beer on his stomach, cradled in his hands.

“I’m exhausted. Five days straight of hauling those rocks around and fighting the current, I’m tired to my bones.”

“Feeling those thirty-seven years are you?”

“Hah, I wish. I feel my father’s age and he’s sixty-seven.”

“Tomorrow’s a cakewalk...pottery collection, nothing back-breaking.” She was watching Talat, blow on and then fan the flames of the big grill.

A plate piled high with sausages sat on an upturned orange crate next to him. He added a handful of wood chips to the fire, and poked it with a metal rod, stirring embers into the air. Satisfied, he covered the grill’s grate with the beef and lamb links. White smoke billowed up from the sizzling meat and was carried across the camp by the breeze.

A smoke cloud rich with the scent of garlic and cumin and onion wafted to where they sat. Charlotte salivated in Pavlovian response.

Atakan propped himself up on his elbows. “I smell sucuks.” He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. “I knew it. Refik worked me to death and I’ve gone to heaven.”

“Talat is grilling a bucket of the sausages he brought back from Marmaris. Poor man took Uma with him. I bet Refik made him take her as punishment for something.” Charlotte sniffed the air. “Come on, let’s get in line.”

“Bring me one, please.” Atakan gave her puppy dog eyes. “You see how trashed I am.” He added a tiny furrow to his brows, injecting a little pitifulness to the sad puppy look.

“Stop with the eyes. I’ll get you one,” Charlotte said, as she stood and headed in Talat’s direction.

Behind her Atakan called out, “Bring me two...with onions. And another beer,” he added, grinning as she glanced over her shoulder.

She bowed her head slightly. “Yes, Your Highness.”

#

Refik divided the divers into two groups. One team he assigned the port perimeter. The rest, along with Atakan and Charlotte, remained in the main cargo area. Their group got lucky early in the process. Beneath the top layer of encrusted pottery they’d freed they discovered stacks of amphoras lying loose, some open, some sealed. For the archaeologists, this gift from the ancients was like Christmas morning. Better. If really lucky, they’d find artifacts or other lifestyle evidence still contained in the clay jars. The odds were against them with the open, unsealed ones.

“Let’s decant these now.” Refik removed two of the sealed and intact amphoras the teams had brought up. He set them onto a cloth covered table and everyone gathered around.

Unlike the previous amphoras recovered, these weren’t Anatolian grey. The painted patterns of Mycenaean design were faded but discernible. The larger pot depicted a lion hunt. Charioted hunters in belted tunics, spears aloft, pursued the animal across the broadest part of the vessel’s body. Bands of birds and snakes painted in intricate detail paralleled each other across the body of the second pot.

Refik carefully emptied the contents of the first container. Luxuries of the age, ivory discs and carnelian beads smaller than pearls spilled onto the cloth. He fingered through the pile, separating the beads from the ivory.

“Nice handful of stash.”

He decanted the second jar with the painted birds and snakes. Thumbnail sized oblongs of obsidian and coin sized rounds of lapis-lazuli rolled out.

“Splendid example of Mycenaean pottery,” Talat said, examining the hunt scene amphora closer.

“Care to approximate a timeline?” Refik asked.

“I’d say sometime between 1400-1100 B.C.E. is a safe assessment.”

Fourteen hundred didn’t help Charlotte with her theory but she mouthed a silent “yes” for the later period.

Rachel Rathburn, a buxom redhead from Miami inserted herself between Refik and Talat. “How can you tell these are not from the beginning of the Submycenaean period?” she asked Talat. “Your dating blurs the distinction with the eleven hundred figure.”

“Trust me; these aren’t Greek Dark Age pots.”

“I don’t doubt your opinion. I just want to learn what to look for. To me, at least, the difference is too difficult to determine without testing.”

Talat handed Rachel the amphora, instructing her to close her eyes. “Use the sensitive tips of your fingers to feel for imperfections.”

She did.

“Now, open your eyes and hold it to the light, inspect it for flaws. Rarely will you find any. The artistry of the later age imitated the more cultured time in style, but their products suffered from inferior workmanship.”

Talat took the pot from her and slowly rotated it, pointing the features out. “The quality of the clay, the perfection of form and the overall excellence of the artistry, indicates this is from the older period.”

“What are these?” Rachel tapped a fine thread of gold, one of several placed around the bell-shaped base.

“Mere decoration, I believe, flecks of gold to catch the light.” Talat returned the artifact to the table.

Uma lifted the second jar and felt along the body the way he’d shown Rachel. She was Rachel’s competition in a secret contest, a bet between the women on the team. Uma stood at Talat’s left elbow to perform the ritual while Rachel stood on his right. The competitors bracketed him as each attempted to earn some advantage with the unwitting prize.

Talat wasn’t exceptionally handsome by any stretch of the imagination. The same height as Charlotte, 5’8, she thought him on the short side for a man. Thin, with wavy dark hair, dark eyes and a strong jaw, he was ordinary looking. He did sport a less common, well trimmed Fu Manchu mustache that made his long nose appear longer.

Two great qualities and one generous endowment to his anatomy drew women to Talat like proverbial bees to honey. They appreciated his affable, easy-going nature and his wickedly droll sense of humor. Nothing or no one was sacred, including himself. He was the first to laugh when someone gave him a good ribbing. Quick with a smile, he was a welcome peacemaker when differences of opinion between team members became heated. Even the men appreciated the last. Only Uma could prick his temper and that was rare.

“You? You want to enter the contest?” Charlotte asked, when Uma said she wanted to be in the competition. “You’ve pissed him off more than once.”

Uma smiled and insisted on entering.

The considerable “gift” he’d been graced with, whether bestowed by the gods, or a result of good DNA, stirred the most interest and discussion among the women. From day one, it was a hot topic of conversation in their dormitory. All the males on the team wore Speedo style swimsuits. And that was where Talat’s exceptional boon revealed itself. The first night, sweaty and weary from loading equipment and construction work, the ladies fell onto their cots. Instead of sleep, they immediately talked about Talat. More specifically, they talked of his “package.”

Over the past weeks, the conversations had finally warped into a challenge between Rachel and Uma. Who’d be first to have sex with Talat? Wagers were made. Three of the women bet on Uma. Ursula and Charlotte put their money on Rachel.

“You’re betting against your sister?” A surprised Charlotte asked.

“Normally, I wouldn’t, but Talat strikes me as a breast man. Rachel makes my sister look like a plank.”

Charlotte exchanged a smug grin with Ursula when Rachel managed to brush Talat’s bicep with her tits as she questioned him about the amphora.

“Your money must be on Rachel,” Atakan said, leaning close.

The smug grin disappeared as Charlotte tried to hide her surprise and feign nonchalance.

Who told him about the bet? Supposedly, it was a secret. If he knew, did Talat?

Chapter Twenty-Three

Refik’s session ended and the group split off to different areas of assignment.

Charlotte and Atakan barely got comfortable with their sketch pads, when she asked, “How’d you know? The bet is between us women, so who told?”

“Everyone knows, including the prize,” he said with a smart-ass smirk and needless brow action.

“Don’t wiggle your brows at me, Slick. Answer the question.”

“Can’t do.”

“Do you know who Talat favors?” she asked for curiosity’s sake. The information didn’t change anything. Bets were made.

“No, he’s being very circumspect. We men have our own wager going.”

“Who’s your money on?”

Atakan smiled. “I doubled down and bet he’d do a threesome.”

“Really?” She thought about it for a moment. “You know, I can see Talat in a three-way.” Thinking about it more, she was peeved with her short-sightedness. “You dog. I wish I’d thought of that.”

“I’ve worked with Talat before. You’re not the first group of women who are captivated by...his...his...”

Atakan had painted himself into a corner. Mr. Uber-male, who’d be the first to say “real men don’t look at other men’s ‘stuff’,” was stammering and stumbling to describe another man’s “stuff.”

This was too good to pass up. Charlotte propped her elbows on the table. Chin in her palm, she blinked, airhead-like, as though fascinated by what he’d say next. “Captivated by...what? Do tell.”

“I know what you’re doing.”

“Oh, what?”

“You are screwing with me.”

“You think?” She ignored his stern look. “I can’t help noticing the Freudian overtones of your deduction.”

“I don’t understand.”

She opened her mouth prepared to graphically analyze the sexual connotation implied, but Atakan stuck his hand out and cut her off.

“Don’t explain. I’m sure whatever you meant, I’d find disturbing.” He laid several soft lead pencils and an eraser on the table and set his pad on his lap.

Charlotte adjusted her amphora’s angle and started her sketch.

Talat’s date for the pieces and the diptych’s age and language showed the trend of recovered artifacts going her way. The exact year(s) of the Trojan War remained unknown since historians differed in opinion. His analysis put the new amphoras close to her timeline range.

“I can make a legitimate claim these pots came from Troy as easily as Mycenae. It’s logical. If a king, like Priam, wanted to export luxuries like ivory and beads for safekeeping, he’d secrete them in this manner.”

Charlotte anticipated the inevitable circular debate her Troy comments usually generated. Since their first adversarial exchange on the cliff, one or the other regularly threw the gauntlet down. Then, the verbal wrangle was on. The tenor of the subsequent discussions changed. She enjoyed their philosophical tug of war and considered it good experience. All Atakan’s counterpoints to her comparisons were valid. She’d face them when the time came to present her dissertation.

Not all of the conjectures she threw at Atakan were aimed at building a solid argument for her case. Sometimes she did it to mess with him. She’d take an unremarkable relic, a piece generic in origin and spin an outrageous way to link it to Troy. Today, he predictably played devil’s advocate in their game.

“More crazy talk?” he countered. It was his favorite opening salvo. “You’re ignoring the obvious. The ship came from Mycenae, or the pieces were obtained at a port along the trade route. Placing small treasures in a sealed jar was a common form of transport, which you well know.”

Charlotte expected he’d argue that exact point and formulated her defense while he waffled on in his superior way. The cocky tone was standard, and she dished it right back with great relish. The loftier he tried to sound, the more exaggerated she parroted his tone.

“They’ve found a large quantity of Mycenaean pottery at the Troy site.” she said. “The assumption is Greek artisans were imported to the city to work. Therefore, it is just as reasonable to say the pottery came from Troy.”

Atakan made circles with his finger next to his temple.

“If the jars came from other ports, why hide them under a layer of ordinary Anatolian pottery? Why not use the commonplace pottery from elsewhere?” she asked.

He shaded the horse’s flank with the side of his pencil and didn’t answer.

“What, no response?”

“I’m certain there’s a logical explanation,” he said as he erased and redrew the animal’s legs.

A welcome afternoon breeze wafted through the room ruffling Charlotte’s hair. The canvas flaps of the large tent were usually pinned up unless a storm was predicted. The fresh sea air kept the lab from becoming a stuffy sweatbox. She crossed her arms over her head enjoying cool relief as it blew across her neck and shoulders.

“You love to mock me. But remember, lots of controversial theories and their authors were denounced at first. Galileo for example,” she said, lowering her arms. Tucking the loose strands of hair behind her ears, she peeked at his sketch. “Your chariot looks like a goat cart.”

“I’m not finished.”

A mix of scrounged, hard on the butt folding chairs and second hand wooden chairs with straw seats were used in the lab. In village cafes, the wooden ones lent a quaint, old world look. In the lab tent...not so much. The straw-bottomed chairs wobbled and creaked in protest with the occupant’s smallest movement. Charlotte sat in them gingerly, half expecting to wind up on her tush. Among the scientists, the general consensus was the chairs were comparable in age to the artifacts.

Atakan’s groaned as he shifted his weight and leaned over. He glanced at Charlotte’s excellent sketch then up at her and gave a short grunt. “You took the easy one. A child can draw birds and snakes,” he said, erasing his sad rendition of a chariot.

“Want some help? The horse really sucks.”

“No. You know Galileo is not a good comparison for your situation.”

He was up to something and foolish as asking was, she did it anyway. “Oh? Why?”

“Galileo’s theory was right,” he said, grinning.

She ignored the comment and removed her amphora from the stand and started picking at one of the gold threads.

“What are you doing?”

“These don’t strike me as decoration. I bet there’s a practical purpose for them. They remind me of the metal strapping used in construction.” She rotated the pot a complete turn. “The manner they’re affixed to the artwork is as likely to blend into the artwork rather than catch the light. I know he’s very knowledgeable, but I question Talat’s assessment.”

“May I?” Atakan stuck his palm out.

Charlotte handed him the amphora.

He rotated the pot too, first to the right and then the left, rubbing his thumb over the strands. “Good observation. I think these are fasteners.”

He laid the piece on the table and walked to the lab’s tool chest. The metal chest stored every hand-held tool used in the lab, air drills and bits, flathead chisels, and a variety of less used instruments. He rummaged through the top shelf and then the three sectioned drawers.

“Got them.” He held up a pair of fine-tipped, needle-nosed wire cutters.

He sat at the table and picked up the piece, angling it so a bright stream of sunlight shone onto the base.

“You aren’t?” Charlotte stared wide-eyed as a rush of panicked thoughts crossed her mind. What would Refik do if Atakan damaged the ancient jar? What would he do to her for allowing it?

“You can’t. No, you can’t. Stop! Are you insane?” She lunged for his hand, knocking her chair to the floor in the process.

Atakan snatched the amphora out of her reach. “Relax. As an agent of the Ministry, I can approve certain liberties taken with the artifacts. I give myself permission to investigate the true purpose of the threads.”

“Yeah and you approved of me not sending the emergency balloon up when you were trapped. That almost got me sent home. Now this. You’re killing me here.”

She righted her chair and sat with her hand over her eyes.

“What are you doing?”

“When Refik goes ballistic, I can honestly say I didn’t witness the willful destruction of an artifact.”

“You’re the one who questioned the purpose of the threads. Uncover your eyes and watch.”

Charlotte uncovered her eyes. “Just so you know, if I get slammed for this, I’m killing you.” Even if Atakan hadn’t insisted she watch, she’d have peeked, too curious not to.

He snipped the first strand, not in the middle but at the base so as to minimize damage if they were simply decorative. A slight separation in the jar’s body appeared with the cut, a fraction of division.

“Cup your hands and hold them under the bottom.”

He continued until all the threads were cut. The base fell into Charlotte’s hands as he snipped the last one.

Across the top of the lower section was a narrow band of pictographs, a Luwoglyphic prayer to Artemis. It was an unusual addition. Nothing they’d found on the wreck had a similar feature. But it was the interior of the upper half that fascinated them. A band of combined cuneiform writings and glyphs two inches wide was imprinted on the clay. They moved to the doorway of the lab where the light was brightest.

“This is amazing. It’s bilingual,” Charlotte said.

“The cuneiform is the traditional Hittite diplomatic script. I recognize several words.” Atakan pointed to one of the Luwoglyphs. “This is from the Hatti king—“

“Hattusili,” Charlotte interrupted. “Hattusili’s reign...” she trailed off, speculating how it helped her.

“Yes, I know what you’re thinking. Depending on what timeline you’re using, his reign coincides with the war.”

“Both Hattusili and the seated man are holding scepters. This is a message from one king to another.”

Atakan studied the writings for a moment. “I agree.”

“I’d love to know who the other king was.” Charlotte ran a finger over the message. “This wasn’t inscribed directly onto the clay. The impression was made with a cylinder seal.”

“Yes.”

“Think this is symbolic of an agreement between kingdoms?”

“That’s a good interpretation, certainly within the realm of reason.”

“Let’s go with that for the moment and assume this hidden agreement is part of a royal envoy’s diplomatic pouch. Would the envoy carry either this royal seal or a similar one in order to solidify additional negotiations?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“I’d love it if there was a royal seal in the cargo.”

“Ankara and the Ministry would esteem such a find.” Atakan went to the storage cabinet and pulled a camera from the shelf. “Let’s get pictures. If something happens to the amphora we’ll have a copy of the script.”

“You two have your heads together conspiratorially. What are you up to?”

Charlotte gave a little jerk at the sound of Ursula’s voice. She hadn’t heard her approach.

“Look.” Charlotte showed her the inside of the amphora. “You’re hot to recover a rare cylinder seal. How about a king’s?”

“Show her the detail work after I finish,” Atakan said.

Charlotte repeated the theory she and Atakan had about the two kings.

Atakan took several more photos then stepped to the side as Ursula examined the imprinted message. She pulled her cell phone from the pocket of her shorts and snapped a couple of pictures of the king’s images. “We have to find the royal seal.”

The desperation in her voice was a little bizarre. Although Ursula spoke aloud, Charlotte had the feeling she wasn’t talking to either her or Atakan.

“Ursula, we’re only speculating there’s a seal in the wreck. We can’t know for certain.”

“It’s there. I know it.”

Charlotte found needed encouragement with these new amphoras. Overall the majority of recovered pieces were disappointing. None had contributed any solid evidence for her theory. Her doctorate was at stake. Ursula had her degree. Why was she so driven to find this particular relic?

“Finding one would be great. I get that. But, if we don’t, it’s not a tragedy. There’ve been a good number recovered over the years. It’s not like we lost the Holy Grail.”

“For me it is.” She gave Charlotte a weak smile. “Everyone has their dream find. A golden seal is mine. It’s the only reason I applied for this project, which has so far been disappointing.”

Atakan stopped scrolling through the pictures on the camera’s Sim card and stared hard at Ursula. “How strange—an archaeologist who isn’t thrilled with Bronze Age relics.”

“You criticize me for having the temerity to be honest, because I won’t lie and pretend passion for pottery and tools.”

“It is through those mundane relics you disparage that we obtain a true picture of our ancestors,” Atakan said.

“Who are you to judge me?”

“Why are you copping this attitude with him?”

“It’s all right, Charlotte. Let her speak,” Atakan said. “Please, go on.”

“I am not afraid of your position. I will speak my mind. What does a lowly government worker know of personal achievement? You’re a glorified babysitter, here to oversee the site. My goals are higher.”

She turned to Charlotte. “This is his job, nothing more. Surely your aspirations are not satisfied with our limited artifacts.”

Ursula saw her as an ally against Atakan for some reason, a gross mistake.

“My goals are different. They’re specific to my degree. If what I hope we discover is not achieved, yes, I’ll be extremely disappointed. However, I’ll never regret being part of this project and working with artifacts of this period.”

“You are afraid to admit the truth in front of him.”

“Afraid to speak because of Atakan, never. Afraid you’ve lost your mind, yes.”

“The world press responds to shiny objects. Discover a room of mummies and it’s a human interest story at most. Discover one mask comparable to King Tut’s and you’re both on a magazine cover. I need a grand, shiny object to make my reputation in the profession.” Ursula looked from Charlotte to Atakan and back.

“If you two are happy being ordinary then you’ll never understand my ambition.”

Ursula walked out.

Charlotte shook her head. “Wow, what an ass.”

Atakan’s expression was intense but inscrutable as he watched her leave. Charlotte respected his control. She wouldn’t be as circumspect.

Chapter Twenty-Four

“After that tirade, I’m ready for a glass of wine,” Charlotte said as they entered the café. “I’m surprised you stood for it.”

“I don’t have to justify myself or my job to her. Besides, to a great extent everything she said was true. I wouldn’t call myself a babysitter, but yes, as an agent of the Ministry, I am a guardian of the site. I am a civil servant. I fill a need.”

The bakery woman hugged Atakan and welcomed him back. She continued to hold on and thanked him for bringing Charlotte. He gently extricated himself from the woman’s short, chubby arms.

Charlotte complimented her on her bright copper head scarf. The rich color flattered the woman’s olive complexion, giving it a healthy tint that softened the age lines. Charlotte favored the color for the same reason. She didn’t have age lines, but she shared the woman’s Mediterranean skin tone. She also thought it brought out her brown eyes.

The woman took their order and left. She hurried back with a wine and a beer and an unsolicited plate of goat cheese slices, tomatoes, bread and dried figs. She gestured to the plate, urging them to eat.

“I think we’re her best customers of the day,” Charlotte said after the woman had gone.

“Of the week.” Atakan slid the thin file he’d brought with him to the side.

“I’m hungry. I’m eating.”

Charlotte stacked a slice of bread with multiple layers of tomato and cheese. Since the Ministry was a topic of discussion, she decided to ask a question she’d wanted to ask for weeks.

“What was Ekrem’s real job?”

“Real job?”

“You can tell me. It’ll remain between us.”

Atakan nibbled on the figs while Charlotte bit into her mini sandwich. “Ekrem was an agent, like myself, and an archaeologist. There’s no confidence to be kept.”

Swallowing she said, “Give me a break. There’s a spy-versus-spy undercurrent to the murder investigation. The obvious aspects I understand. I get Petalas questioning the timing of my arrival. I get that Interpol is in the loop. Ekrem was a government employee murdered in a foreign country.”

Charlotte held onto Atakan’s wrist, preventing him from finishing the figs in his palm. “It was you and Nick who tipped me off there was more involved.”

“Given your imagination, I can’t wait to hear this tale.” He dumped the figs into his other hand and began eating again. “Please enlighten me.”

“When we talked in Santorini, the nature of your questions shifted from basic information gathering to a borderline interrogation.”

Atakan showed no reaction.

She ticked the questions off. “You asked if I saw who was on the deck of the trawler. Then you asked if I saw anyone loitering at the marina or had contact with anyone I didn’t know. Individually, those questions are general if taken at face value. Factor in emphasis, intonation, and the equation changes. It’s what prompted me to ask why you were pressing me for information I’d already given to the investigators. You blew me off with the excuse of trying to get the chain of events right.”

“Blew you off? You say the strangest things sometimes. I was trying to ascertain the way the events unfolded.”

Charlotte ate another small bite of sandwich and washed it down with wine then went on. “In regards to Nick, I know my brother better than he thinks. I can always tell when he’s up to something or in this case covering up something.”

“I’m listening.”

“First of all, he stationed Jeff at the door. Like I wouldn’t make him for a lookout,” she said. “Nick wanted to talk to you and he didn’t want me to know what it was about.”

Atakan wiped his hands on a paper napkin and moved the file to the middle of the table. “Your brother asked me about a contract killer who might be responsible for Ekrem’s murder. A man named Tischenko.”

“You both know of this guy on some level and neither of you thought to tell me? I’m a witness to a possible contract murder, yet I’m left in the dark like a mushroom. Thanks a lot.”

“Calm down. Your brother had only minimal information on Tischenko. He didn’t say anything to you because he didn’t want to scare you. He asked me to keep our conversation confidential. There’s not much point to secrecy now. I understand Petalas plans to ask you about Tischenko.”

Atakan opened the file and laid several eight by ten photos out in front of her. “These are our surveillance photos of him. Tell me if he looks at all familiar.”

Charlotte set the remains of her sandwich on the table. She lost her appetite as she looked at the face of the handsome blonde man who helped her with her luggage at the Santorini airport. He had striking blue eyes, a broad Slavic face, and deep dimples.

“Tischenko...Russian?”

She had pegged him for Russian from his accent. At the time, she remembered thinking how much he reminded her of a famous Soviet Olympic figure skater.

“Ukrainian,” Atakan clarified.

She expected poor quality from surveillance photos. But the two headshots captured the man rather well. He was smiling in the first, and the camera picked up those dimples. In the other, his sunglasses were pushed up onto his head, like that day at the airport. The color shot didn’t show the ruddiness of his complexion. His blue eyes came through. Both pictures showed the bone structure of his Eastern European lineage.

Charlotte kept her head down as she studied the photos, afraid if she looked up Atakan would see the truth. She moved the order of the pictures around, buying time as she tried to analyze her situation.

What could she tell Atakan? She forgot about the man, even after Atakan asked her directly if someone approached her at the airport. The exchange with Tischenko was so short, a few pleasantries. The encounter slipped her mind.

How was she supposed to explain? Oh, you mean did I see this man. Yeah, I did. Sorry, I guess we did sort of chat.

If she now admits to meeting Tischenko, albeit briefly, Atakan’s bound to ask what else she’s forgotten to mention. It’s the logical next question. It’s what she’d ask. Any answers she gives will result in, “Are you sure? Are you certain you haven’t forgotten something else?” No matter how positive she responds, there’ll be a cloud of doubt tainting the answer.

It would be worse once Petalas found out she’d met Tischenko. He too had asked if someone spoke to her prior to boarding the gulet. She’d sworn to him no one had. Even if she convinced Atakan the mistake was innocent, Petalas would rain all kinds of accusations down on her.

“Well?”

Her head snapped up.

“Do you recognize him?”

She wanted to be honest, if only with him. Ironically, honesty at this point appeared like duplicity. The few minutes at the airport with Tischenko weren’t worth the risk. The only two people who knew of the fleeting contact were her and Tischenko. The Greeks obviously hadn’t found out. According to Atakan they only wanted to show her the pictures too. She’d keep their short, innocuous encounter secret. That was the smart play.

“No, I’ve never seen him before.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Thankfully, Atakan believed her. Charlotte worried she had given the lie away somehow, either in voice or gesture. Lying wasn’t her forte. After she denied any knowledge, he took the photos back and replaced them in the file. They ordered another round of drinks and enjoyed the rest of the meal talking about EU politics. When they stood to leave, the bakery woman encouraged them to come inside and see her other fresh goods.

The woman’s arthritic fingers worked with a younger woman’s speed as she wrapped the rest of the walnut rolls. There was enough for everyone in camp if they halved them. She beamed as she handed the bag to Atakan. He nudged Charlotte with his elbow and gave a slight jerk of head toward the small baskets of vegetables. Charlotte stared back at him not understanding and mouthed “what” before she caught the hint. She bought all the gauze wrapped cheese logs, a dozen whole tomatoes and a Bounty bar from the candy rack. The woman patted Charlotte’s hand like a mother does a child when she passed another bag to her.

Atakan’s cell phone rang. “Hold this, please.” He gave Charlotte his bag and stepped outside.

“Did you show her the pictures?” the Director asked.

“Yes. She’s never seen him.”

“Think she’s telling the truth?”

“I do.”

“You need to settle the Waterman issue.”

“I will. She trusts me. If she knows of his past, she’ll tell me. Anything of interest on the Schweigers?”

“Nothing negative. This is the first time the sisters have worked together. Ursula’s spent all her time on projects in Greece and Italy. She became Kryianos’s lover earlier this year. Yasar said she’s a decade past his age preference. She must be skilled in ways that have nothing to do with archaeology,” Firat said, chuckling. “What’s she like?”

“Pretty and knows it, ambitious, definitely an elitist, but pleasant when she wants to be.”

“Yet, you asked me to look into her background.”

“I can’t give you specifics. She’s...”

“Sly?”

“Yes.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Athens

Stevan pulled a soft cotton handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the fingerprints from the glass. The protective case held a cherished sarcophagus obtained from an Egyptian black marketer. Its exotic design bore the scars of careless looters. A Swiss business associate provided the false letters of provenance indicating legal acquisition. Stevan doubted there’d be a problem. The pharaonic coffin of a late dynasty lesser royal wouldn’t generate high interest among academics. But with the increased worldwide publicity over stolen artifacts ending up in private collections, he preferred the comfort of documentation.

He inspected the case again in the light for more smudges and didn’t see any. Folding the handkerchief, he tucked it back into his jacket, making a mental note to chastise the cleaning crew.

His thoughts wandered to Ursula’s project and the potential for a royal cylinder seal. There was a good chance more than one seal existed in the wreck. Royal or not, a seal couldn’t be accounted for with forged paperwork. Their provenance was certain. Luckily, the lack of documentation didn’t affect their value. Mere possession would satisfy any collector.

If the team found two, he’d keep one. If they only discovered one, he’d sell it. He resented the painful necessity. Sacrifice didn’t suit him. He was long out of the habit. The fact a vulgarian like Aaron Waterman was the purchaser outraged him. Waterman bought treasures not because he loved their history or their beauty, but just to say he had them.

“Philistine,” Stevan said aloud.

Unfortunately, he needed the money. He’d burned through Elena’s estate. Elena. Memories of his late wife came to mind. He never expected to miss her, and at first, he didn’t. But the past few years, he thought of Elena with increasing frequency, feeling the sense of loss more and more.

His feelings didn’t stem from great love, not on his part, although by the time she died, he’d grown deeply fond of her. She loved him and had for three decades. She’d introduced him to a different world, her world. As a young architect without the necessary political or social contacts, he couldn’t find employment. No one cared he had talent or a vision for modernizing Athens, making it another London.

He found work as a waiter at the café across the street from Elena’s father’s office. They met when he served her lunch one day. The not so pretty, in truth, the term plain would be a kindness, but wealthy Elena fell in love with him. Stevan encouraged her infatuation, returning her affection with calculated effort. Her father had the connections he needed. But the doors of opportunity he fantasized opening, didn’t. After they married, she wanted him with her all the time. The unalluring Elena wanted to show off her prize. He packed away his sketches and became the dutiful husband. In time, the whispers of “gigolo” stopped.

They never spoke of his mistresses. She knew and never complained. Unable to have children herself, she accepted with grace his deep attachment to his illegitimate daughter, a child born to the one mistress he loved. In his eyes, she was the most beautiful baby in the world. He called her Aphrodite.

With his dream of architecture dead, he turned his creative passion to the world of artifacts. Elena indulged his hunger. At first, he acquired pieces through legitimate dealers and auction houses. After awhile he wanted more than the meager offerings of those sources. He learned through other private collectors of the reliable black market providers.

Elena stayed blissfully ignorant to the costs of his dealings. He stayed blissfully ignorant to the state of their finances, leaving the details to accountants. The dismal news of their near bankrupt status shocked him when her estate was settled.

He’d live well for years on the sale money from a seal. The leased yacht was for show and his biggest expense. It impressed fools like Ursula. Once their arrangement was terminated, he’d eliminate both luxuries.

The phone on his desk rang. He turned from the sarcophagus, checked the caller I.D. It was Aaron Waterman and he picked up.

“I’m glad you called,” Stevan said, switching the phone to speaker.

He moved to the closed window. Air pollution and the stink of exhaust fumes compelled him to keep the windows shut. Stevan watched the stream of vehicles wending their way up to the Acropolis where a layer of smog hovered above the monuments. Across the street, a Grayline Bus unloaded Chinese passengers in front of the Athens Gate Hotel. The tourists gathered around a prim, non-Asian woman, their guide no doubt from her attire. She wore a simple sleeveless white blouse, a knee length dark skirt, and unattractive but sensible shoes.

“I’ll bite. Why?” Aaron asked.

“I had an interesting conversation with Ursula last week.”

The guide stood on her toes. She waved a bright green sign with a picture of the Parthenon painted on it high in the air. She had her other hand to her mouth trying to be heard above the street noise. The passengers who’d strayed returned and she led the group up the stairs and into the hotel lobby.

“About Charlotte?” Aaron asked.

“Yes. It seems a personal relationship between her and the Ministry rep. may be developing.”

“So?”

“So, if they’re having an affair, it’s natural she’ll turn to him for help when the seal disappears. He’ll believe she used him and be that much more determined to see her punished.”

“What if he has a completely different agenda?”

Stevan moved back to his desk. “What do you mean?”

He removed a pencil and an artist’s sketch pad from the middle drawer and flipped to a clean page. Stevan doodled as he spoke, redrawing the façade of the hotel. In his opinion, the popular place needed a facelift. He’d redo the nondescript building to a style that blended a sleek, modern look with touches from the Greek Classical Period.

“Maybe he’s getting close to her as part of the murder investigation. My partner, Frank, says she remains a person of interest. I’m concerned she’ll be removed from the project.”

“I wouldn’t worry. If that was the case, they’d have done it already,” Stevan said, using a different soft lead pencil to shade the roofline of his drawing.

He stopped sketching. “I wonder if Vadim is more than a mere representative. It makes setting her up more difficult logistically but not impossible.”

“Tell Ursula to try and find out.”

“Not advisable. Our purpose is better served if she remains in the background,” Stevan said. “Unusual interest in him might raise his suspicions. We don’t want his focus on her rather than Dashiell.”

Who could they use? He thought for a moment and Tischenko came to mind.

“I’ll tell my other associate the situation. He’ll insert one of his contacts with no known ties to him. The camp receives daily supplies from the village. No one notices when different locals handle the delivery runs.”

“If this Vadim becomes a problem, then what?”

“He’ll join his friend, Ekrem.”

Stevan had another plan Waterman might like. “What if we make Dashiell disappear at the same time as the theft? There’s no emotional appeal to color Vadim’s thinking. The appearance of guilt is absolute.”

“Clever,” Aaron said. “Arrange it.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Bozburun

Hundreds of bubbles surged toward the surface from Charlotte’s mouthpiece. She blew out her frustration a second time and hundreds more followed as her brush disappeared. Twice, in as many days, her small brush was sucked up the tube of the airlift mouth.

Long exposure to the water and currents left many of the artifacts vulnerable to extreme corrosion. A layer of sand and silt offered some protection from the elements but not the ravages of time. The delicate condition of the pieces wouldn’t tolerate even the easy strokes of hand-fanning. A combination of soft artist style brushes and the airlift were meticulously employed to dispel the sand and silt.

The origins of the dagger and sword recovered and documented by Charlotte and Atakan remained unknown. Among the team, Mycenaean provenance had the greatest support, followed by Hittite. She was the lone voice for Troy.

Today, they prepared the next piece from the small cache of weapons, another dagger for transportation. Atakan glanced over when she stopped the silt removal. She flipped her hands back and forth, showing him they were empty and pointed to the airlift. He waved her over. She took control of his vacuum while he used the brush.

A small octopus squirted past. The aerobic push and pull of its tentacles stirred up a cloud of sand that followed in the creature’s wake. Charlotte let the miniature whirlwind settle before taking the vacuum to Atakan’s artifact.

Finished, she moved the tube aside and took his brush while he carefully laid the dagger in the wire basket. They knelt together on the seabed. For a better sense of feel, they worked without gloves as they sifted through the sand. Buried relics were often discovered by bare-fingered touch. The previous team found another concealed dagger in its entirety using this system.

Atakan paused and pointed. She concentrated the airlift hose where he indicated as he dug down further. As the sand cleared, drops of purple sparkled through. He lifted the object out and held the magnificent sculpture with two hands. The amethyst covered lion filled one of his palms. The jewels ended at the animal’s neck. The lion’s head and mane were hammered gold with obsidian eyes. The piece went into a special plastic box for small, high value artifacts.

#

On deck, everyone gathered around Refik as he performed a cursory exam of the statuette. The gold and obsidian undamaged, the jeweled body had no visible corrosion. He turned it over in the strong sunlight, tipped it up, checking the piece closer. Refik pressed a spot on the golden throat. A couple of tablespoons of seawater spilled out as the head of the animal sprung open. Inside the cat’s belly was a miniature horse of gold, rearing up on its hind legs.

Comments of, “incredible,” “beautiful,” and “amazing,” traveled through the group.

“A Faberge egg from the ancient world,” Charlotte said.

Atakan bent and whispered, “Actually, it’s a lion.”

Charlotte eyed him hard, wondering if irritation was an affirmative defense in Turkey for choking someone.

The boat arrived to shuttle her and Atakan to camp where they proceeded with the cleaning of the weapons from the earlier dive. Charlotte continued the laborious process with the dagger’s hilt. A silver dollar size cabochon of ebony set in a cradle of gold formed the pommel. In tiny increments, each day, thin bands of gold and ivory were revealed completing the hilt piece. Not an ordinary design for a warrior’s weapon.

Atakan’s artifact, a sword, presented more problems, some severe. The design was typical of the age in construction and form. But the combination of silver and gold flanges on the hilt required special handling. The decorative gold was as pristine as the day the ship sank. Not so with the silver. Saltwater corrosion had badly damaged the metal, turning it into black mush in places. He used the finest tipped air drill to clean the crevices around the gold and avoid the deteriorated silver.

“What a remarkable weapon,” he said, looking up from his work. “I wish I could’ve seen the piece new.”

The comment made her smile. It was an archeologist’s common lament. I’d love to have seen this when it was first carved---first woven---first built...Thank God, that wishful thinking would never come true. They’d all wind up enslaved, or burned as witches, or have nasty holes drilled into their heads to release the science demons. All ugly scenarios.

“Times being what they were, as in brutal and bloody, it might not have been a good thing to see it in its rightful era,” Charlotte said. “Now will you admit this cargo could be a king’s treasure? Be objective, look at the evidence, a jeweled lion with a horse. The Trojans were renowned horse breeders, in addition to these ceremonial weapons.” She hoped Atakan might concede a little but expected him to shoot down the possibility, as usual.

“There’s the remote chance. However, the likelihood is stronger they are gifts, part of a diplomatic gesture.”

“You’re not going to give an inch, are you?”

“Not a millimeter. You know what I think of your hypothesis,” he said in the airy tone.

She grunted her acknowledgment.

They worked for awhile in silence. Her thoughts drifted from the relics and Troy to the status of the murder investigation. The matter preyed on her mind. How worried should she be? She needed another opinion. They were alone in the lab. Atakan’s opinion wasn’t as unbiased as she’d like, but she trusted him to be honest.

“Why do you think the Greeks haven’t re-interviewed me? Both you and Nick said to expect another contact. He emailed me and asked if they had. He was surprised when I said no. I’m surprised too.”

Atakan was looking beyond the work stations. “I think the answer to your question is standing in the doorway.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Sevastopol

Tischenko squatted in front of the slumped beggar and fingered the Russian Army insignia on the sleeve of the man’s field jacket. “This your coat or did you steal it?” he asked, prodding the man with a knuckle in the chest until he sat straight.

The man turned toward the sound of Maksym’s voice. Cloudy eyes fixed not on his face but on a spot over Maksym’s left shoulder.

“It is mine,” he said. “I was with the CMTA...an artillery regiment.”

“Where?”

“Chechnya. I lost my eyesight during the battle of Grozny.”

“I was there too,” Maksym said and sat back on his heels.

“Bloody business.”

“Yes.” He eyed the veteran’s filthy clothes. The day was hot, too hot for such a warm coat. “Are you not burning up in that jacket?”

The man nodded weakly. “It is the only coat I have. I can’t risk it being stolen and then I am left with nothing in the winter.”

Bony fingers held out a paper cup exposing his pink, puckered, burn scarred wrist under the jacket’s sleeve. “Perhaps you could spare some change for a fellow soldier.”

The cup contained a paltry few Hryvnia coins, too little to buy a cheap bowl of soup in the worst of Sevastopol’s cafes.

“Can you tell the denomination of paper currency?” Maksym removed a five hundred Euro from his money clip.

“Yes, I can judge Hryvnia bills from Euros and their amount by the size and edge patterns.”

“What bill is this?” Maksym pressed the banknote into the soldier’s hand.

He ran his finger tips around the border. There was a quick intake of breath. “Five hundred Euros.”

“Get some food and buy yourself a better coat.”

“Thank you.” The man patted the air feeling for Maksym’s face.

He pulled away before the man could touch him.

“Thank you,” the man said again. “God bless you.”

Maksym laughed. “I make my own blessings. Your god works too slow for my taste. Good day.” Standing, he left as the man scrambled to his feet, clutching the money tight in his hand.

Behind Cazal sunglasses, Tischenko scanned the customers on the patio of the Barkas restaurant. Tourists on summer holiday occupied the front tables nearest the beach promenade. A lone male sat in the corner reading the menu on his lap. He took a swig from a bottle of beer then set the bottle on the table next to him. In spite of the thick beard and hair to his shoulders, Tischenko recognized Garabed Abassian.

Tischenko pulled the wrought iron chair out and sat opposite, lighting a Gitanes. The pungent smelling smoke from the French cigarette hung over the table as he exhaled.

“Try the pelengas. It’s decent, locally caught.”

“I’ll trust your judgment. Although, I’ve never been fond of Black Sea fish,” Abassian said and set the menu down. “Nice watch, Breitling?”

“Girard-Perregaux.”

“Business must be good.”

“I stay busy. Unfortunately, I can’t be seen on this new job. I need someone who’s been off the radar for awhile. You came to mind. I was actually surprised to find you available. Last I heard you were in Tajikistan running fresh supplies of women to Moscow and Dubai. Enjoy yourself?”

“It’s not unpleasant work. Sex was good. Resistance on a woman’s part is a delicious aphrodisiac.” Abassian signaled the waiter and ordered the fish plate. “Drugs paid better,” he added after the waiter left. “The Moscow market for Afghan opiates is very lucrative.”

“Why aren’t you still there?”

“Fucking CIA is everywhere.” His Armenian accent hit the vowels so the word came out foo-king. “Fucking Americans,” he said, disgustedly. “I had to bribe the local tribal chiefs to use the lousy goat paths along the border to avoid them. It doesn’t matter—Afghan or Tajikistan, they’re all thieves. My profit margin dropped too much.”

“You look pretty tribal yourself with that black fur blanket on your face, not to mention your hair and odor. When did you wash last?”

Abassian peered over the rim of the bottle. “You want to kiss me or give me a job?”

Tischenko ignored the taunt. He eyed a buxom brunette in the tiniest of bikinis with mild interest. She spread oil on her legs and arms then across her chest as she talked with another young woman. The two rested on beach loungers across from the restaurant and promenade. The brunette’s breasts threatened to pop out of her top as she tucked a towel between the slats of the lounger. Slick with oil, her skin had a slight sheen in the sun. Tischenko wondered how much money she’d want to let him tit fuck her.

“You going to talk business or take the woman in the alley?”

“It’s in Bozburun.” Tischenko turned, leaning forward, he lowered his voice. “I expect you’ll be there a couple of weeks at least. How’s your Turkish?”

Abassian shrugged. “Passable.”

Tischenko removed a photo of Atakan from his shirt pocket and handed it to Abassian with the few details he needed. “You’ll stay with a local farmer under the name, Basri Damla.”

“You have a way for me to go in and out of the camp at will, I assume?”

“Yes, your contact there is a woman named Ursula. She’s handling the theft.”

“You say the Ministry man is friendly with the other woman,” Abassian said.

“Yes.”

“If he’s a problem do I kill him?”

“If necessary. Call first.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Bozburun

“Miss Dashiell, you need to come with us,” Petalas said.

“Where?”

“Our boat, we require privacy.”

“Your boat?” She looked to Atakan for guidance.

“If you don’t mind, I will accompany her.” He wasn’t asking Petalas’s permission in the polite statement.

“We prefer to speak to her alone.”

Charlotte was relieved by Atakan’s suggestion. She didn’t trust them. She worried they’d double team her and try to spin her answers to fit their purpose. Atakan wasn’t an independent witness. He and the Ministry had a vested interest in Petalas’s investigation. But he was the closest she had to one. She trusted him to watch out for her.

“I have nothing to hide. Either he stays and you talk to me here, or we go to your boat and he comes along,” she said.

“Are you afraid to meet us alone?”

“No,” she lied. “Why are you afraid of a witness accompanying me? Unless you fear your insinuations will lose their impact.”

“Be careful with your insults, Miss Dashiell.”
Atakan gave her elbow a squeeze. “Don’t antagonize him. This isn’t the States.”

He was right. Provoking Petalas didn’t accomplish anything.

“Fine, let’s go,” she said.

Charlotte and Atakan put the artifacts they’d been working on away and followed Petalas and his aide to the Greek ship. Their request to speak onboard the ship rather than at camp initially made her uncomfortable. She grew more uneasy when they reached the gangplank. She had a bad vibe about the interview and wished she hadn’t agreed to come. Once on deck, they had complete control of the situation. If they spoke in camp or even at the café in the village, she had the option of leaving. At least Atakan was with her.

Petalas left her dockside with his aide and requested to speak to Atakan in private. The two men walked several yards away, out of earshot. Petalas did all the talking. Atakan listened with his hands casually in the pockets of his shorts.

As Petalas spoke, Atakan’s change in demeanor alarmed her. His hands went to his hips. He stared at the ground as Petalas continued to speak. He spit out a phrase she didn’t hear but thought he swore.

She made eye contact with Atakan once which was met with unexpected antipathy. What the devil had Petalas told him? Worried by the reaction, she considered her options. There weren’t many. She could refuse to cooperate and return to camp for the present or stay. What would her father and Nick advise? They’d tell her to proceed. With a homicide case the investigators aren’t going to leave her in peace. Sooner or later, she had to submit to the second interview. She might as well get the questioning over. Later she’d take Atakan aside and ask about his conversation with Petalas.

Atakan and Petalas returned. Petalas took the lead going up the ramp. The aide indicated for Charlotte to go next, he filed in behind her and Atakan brought up the rear.

When they were all on deck, Petalas turned to her. “You’re under arrest.”

“Under arrest? You said you wanted to talk to me. I’d never have agreed to come otherwise.” She shook her head unable to wrap her mind around the situation. “This is insane. What are the charges?”

“That depends on your answers to our questions.”

She spun around and brushed past the aide as she tried to escape back to the gangplank. Atakan blocked her path. She looked from him to Petalas then back. “Atakan?”

“I’m afraid you either answer their questions here or in a jail cell in Athens,” Atakan said, flatly.

Petalas and the aide led her to a lower deck. They hustled her along a narrow passageway to another staircase and down to yet another deck deep in the bowels of the ship. Atakan followed.

Petalas stopped mid-ship and opened a cabin door. The aide held onto her arm as she stepped over the high threshold and into a windowless white room. Inside was a metal table bolted to the floor with two chairs across from each other. A single pan light from the ceiling hung over the table. Nick had shown her an interrogation room at his station. This was almost identical except there was no two-way mirror.

“Sit,” Petalas ordered and pointed to a chrome chair with a metal seat.

She sat where he directed and discovered a Medieval looking solid iron ring attached to the rim of the table. She didn’t recall a ring like that at Nick’s station. Maybe it was a Greek practice to cuff prisoners to it during questioning. Did they intend on cuffing her? She’d put nothing past Petalas.

“Where’s Atakan? He’s my witness.”

Petalas ignored her.

“Atakan,” Charlotte called out. She stood and stepped toward the door.

“Quiet.” Petalas pressed a firm hand against her chest. “Sit down.”

After she did, he and his aide joined Atakan in the passageway, closing the door behind them.

She began to pace. The walls were bare, except for the security camera wedged into the corner of the ceiling. They’d monitor the interrogation from a remote location. They’d probably video or at least tape record her answers. American detectives would. The lack of windows or clocks she assumed was to skew the suspect’s sense of time. She was onto their disorienting little tricks. They forgot to take her watch. She checked the time and then continued pacing the boundaries of the box shaped room.

The room smelled of ammonia. Sharp, strong chemical odors irritated her sinuses. She’d wind up with a sore throat if subjected to them over an extended period. Her nose began to run as she walked in circles. No tissue was handy and she resorted to dabbing at her nose with the shirttail of her blouse.

Five minutes passed. She spent them trying to put her thoughts in order and make some semblance of logic out of the situation. They were obviously going to try and connect her to Ekrem’s death. She had nothing to worry about there. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time. What else was there? Anything they accused her of was circumstantial...circumstantial in America, she reminded herself. As Atakan said earlier, “this isn’t the States.”

How could she get word to her family? At least, they’d get the ambassador involved, if he’d agree to help. But considering the seriousness of the charges, what could he do? She didn’t even know what the Greek criminal procedures were. How much evidence did they need to file a case against her? Whatever they had was way too flimsy to get filed in the States.

Worse case scenario, it gets filed. What was their version of due process, right to speedy trial, innocent until proven guilty? American prisons were horribly violent places. She didn’t think foreign prisons were less so. If convicted she might get life in prison. Life. Better dead.

She sat and buried her head in her hands. Even if she wasn’t convicted, she faced professional ruin. Automatic termination from the team was a given. She’d be blackballed within the small archaeological community, her reputation permanently tainted. Somebody would always believe her guilty, always. Never truly trusted, no project would risk placing her on a team. Without field experience her thesis, her credibility, her doctorate were jeopardized. If she did manage to obtain her doctorate, the disgrace of arrest, let alone a trial, would keep the better universities from allowing her to teach.

She checked her watch. They’d been gone ten minutes now.

What evidence could they have? Maybe she’d be okay. The only possible negative was seeing Tischenko at the airport. They had no idea about that one incident. They couldn’t.

They couldn’t.

Hateful to me as the gates of Hades is that man who hides one thing in his heart and speaks another.

The Iliad

Chapter Thirty

At fifteen minutes, Atakan came into the interrogation room alone carrying a folder.

“Did you talk to Petalas? What’s going on?”

Atakan set the folder on the table without answering and sat opposite Charlotte.

“Atakan? Talk to me.”

Opening the file, he withdrew several black and white photos and tossed them across the table in front of her.

“Want to explain these?”

Without looking, she knew what the pictures were. Atakan stared at her with cold, emotionless eyes. How he must hate her at this moment. Somewhere onboard the Greeks also watched her with equal contempt. She took a deep breath and laid the photos out in a row. One-by-one, she went through the incriminating proof of contact with Tischenko.

The series of still shots showed him inside the Santorini Airport alone. The camera tracked him as he approached and spoke to her and then yanked her bag from the carousel. Their brief verbal exchange following his courteous assist looked friendly, which it was. More shots showed smiles from both of them and another quick exchange before they separated. The truth was simple and innocent and not nearly as persuasive as the pictures were of guilty association.

She couldn’t blame Atakan for being angry and disgusted. From his point of view, he must think she played him for a fool. It was a stupid, small lie, a matter of self-protection. If anyone was the fool, she was. Lying had never worked out well for her. She screwed herself royally with this one. How could she possibly recover Atakan’s trust, let alone convince the Greeks the encounter was innocent?

“Where’d you get these?”

“Unlike me, Petalas isn’t an idiot. He wasn’t completely sure you told the truth about not meeting or talking to anyone other than Ekrem and Heather. He pulled the security tapes from the airport for the day you arrived. Now answer my question.”

“It isn’t what it looks like.”

“I’m waiting.”

“I was in baggage claim. I struggled with my case. You know how the wheels catch on the edge at times. I was jerking on the handle when this man interceded and lifted the case to the floor for me. I thanked him. He smiled. He said something to the effect of welcome to Santorini, lovely lady. I don’t recall exactly. I thanked him for the compliment and asked if he knew where the taxi stand was. He told me and I left. It was a thirty second encounter. That’s everything.”

“When I showed you his picture you denied ever seeing him.”

“I was scared of the reaction. If I mentioned I’d seen him, however briefly, either you or the Greek investigators might suspect I knew more than I was saying. Petalas has always treated me with suspicion.”

“So, you lied---” He banged his white-knuckled fist on the table and leaned a fraction closer. “To me!”

Charlotte understood his anger but if he could just set it aside for the moment and let her explain.

She reached over. “Atakan, I’m so sorry.”

He grabbed her wrist hard and shoved her hand away. “Sit back or I’ll cuff you to the table ring.”

She folded her hands in front of her and tried to explain. “If I told you the truth, you’d have to tell the Ministry and the Greeks.”

“In Santorini, I specifically asked you if anyone spoke to you. That was before you allegedly knew who Tischenko was. If he was merely a man who helped you, a person you had a minor conversation with, why not tell me then?”

“In all honesty, I simply forgot. Keep in mind the trauma of the previous hours. A two minute talk to a stranger in the airport slipped my mind. Do you remember everyone you’ve ever had a passing conversation with at an airport?”

“Which is it? A thirty second talk or a two minute talk? Your story changes every time you tell it.”

Her nasal passages burned from the smell of the cleaning fluid and her throat felt raw. Atakan appeared unaffected. She wondered if his anger and disappointment made him immune to the environment.

“Well?”

“Thirty seconds, two minutes, it could’ve been either. I didn’t watch the time. It was short,” she mumbled and bent to wipe the corners of her eyes with a different place of her shirttail.

“Your tears do not move me.”

“I’m not crying. My eyes are watering from the ammonia odor.” She straightened and cleared her throat. “Can I have a glass of water and a tissue?”

“Later. You’ve had weeks after Santorini to mention the incident to me.”

His impassive tone and absence of fury frightened her. She’d preferred anger. It gave her a direction, an indicator to what he was feeling. She didn’t know how to penetrate his indifference.

As scientists they shared a predisposition to logic and her reasons for lying, considering the situation, were logical. That predisposition was her best chance at getting him to understand her motive. She needed to convey why, at the time, her decision seemed sound. A pathetic excuse and she knew it.

“Again, the encounter wasn’t something that stuck in my head,” she reiterated. “I didn’t recall it until you showed me the picture. I panicked when you did. I felt no explanation I gave would suffice. Was my reasoning flawed? Yes.”

Atakan was her only ally, and he looked unmoved. If he didn’t believe her, she’d wind up dumped in an Athens jail.

“Atakan, I swear to you the airport incident is my total contact with Tischenko. I don’t know him. You have to believe me.”

The door opened. Petalas’s aide came in and handed her a wad of tissues and set a glass of water on the table. She thanked him and he left without making eye contact or speaking. She looked up to the camera over Atakan’s right shoulder as the aide quietly shut the door.

Charlotte blew her nose and dabbed at her watery eyes. She drank half of the water while she organized her rationalization in one last ditch effort to defend herself. She put the glass down.

“You must see how inconsequential the exchange was. It’s obvious.” She didn’t know what else to say.

Atakan gathered the pictures and put them back into the folder. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s open to interpretation.”

“How?”

“A murderer approaches you and no one else. Under the guise of helping you, a short conversation takes place. A conversation you say was trivial but just as easily was an exchange of information--”

“What information? There was nothing to learn from me.”

“He needed to know what boat Ekrem was on.”

“Which I didn’t know. Ekrem said they’d meet me at the marina, period. He made all the arrangements. The point I’m trying to get across to you is, Tischenko never asked me any questions. I don’t know why he singled me out.”

“It was no accident.”

“What are you implying?”

“The first time he shows up on the tapes and the only time is the day you arrived. He walked into baggage claim a few minutes before your plane landed. He didn’t speak to anyone, didn’t move, until you entered the Arrival’s Hall.”

“So?”

“Somehow you led him to Ekrem and he knew you would.”

“Impossible.” The wild accusation made no sense. “Other than general pleasantries, I never communicated with him.” Frustrated and weary, she repeated the denial. “I. Don’t. Know. Him.”

“If you never met, how did he know you’d be on that flight?”

Charlotte ran the question through her mind, trying to think of everyone who knew her schedule. Her family of course, but they certainly had no dealings with someone like Tischenko. Her friends and fellow doctoral students were familiar with her plans. The committee members definitely knew. She’d turned in a detailed schedule to them prior to leaving.

“If he contacted the university and spoke to one of the department secretaries, he might’ve found out. If he said he was MIAR, they’d tell him. I can’t explain how he fixed on me.”

Atakan listened with the same hard expression he had when he showed her the pictures. The lie seriously damaged her credibility. Not admitting the encounter was the dumbest thing she’d ever done. Surveillance cameras are everywhere. She should’ve known the short exchange with Tischenko was taped.

“Atakan, I’m begging you, please give me another chance. Please don’t write me off as a liar or worse. Please try to understand. The fact you said the brush with Tischenko is open to interpretation lends legitimacy to my fears.”

She’d pleaded with him and his face hadn’t changed. She’d lost his trust and his friendship. Two things she’d come to appreciate. Her freedom, which she’d always appreciated, might be next.

They sat in silence for a long moment. His gaze dropped to the file and then back to her. “I understand your trepidation regarding the Greek investigators,” he said at last. “But, you know me, and knowing me, you still lied.”

“I was wrong. You deserved the truth from me. I can’t change what I’ve done. All I can do is tell you how sorry I am and beg your forgiveness.”

Atakan picked up the file and went to the door. “I will return soon.”

“Please, forgive me...please.”

He turned and looked at her. “We’re not done yet.”

Chapter Thirty-One

Twenty minutes passed before Atakan returned, empty handed and alone again.

“What happens now?” Charlotte asked, unable to speculate from his face.

He remained in the open doorway and waved her out. “We’re going.”

“I’m free?”

“Yes, provided no additional incriminating evidence is discovered against you.”

She shoved the chair back and joined him ready to race up to the deck and out of Greek jurisdiction. “There won’t be, I promise you.” Grateful for her freedom, she raised her arms to hug him, but seeing him stiffen, she dropped them to her sides.

Petalas hadn’t made another appearance, not that she had any great desire to see him. She paused as she stepped into the passageway, thinking it odd. Why would he pass up the opportunity to give her the severe warning about any other evidence?

Less than an hour ago, she was a frog’s hair away from jail...allegedly. Now, she was suddenly free. Something wasn’t right about the way her release had gone down.

“What really happened here, Atakan?”

“Meaning?”

“My arrest and release aren’t playing out the way these things normally do.”

“Stay if you prefer. I’m leaving.” He started toward the stairs.

“I was never under arrest was I?” Charlotte pulled him back by the arm.

“No.”

“Then what was this charade about?”

“Petalas told me on the dock about the surveillance photos. We decided then to take a ruthless approach.”

“And lied.”

“Yes. Are you so naïve as to think your brother has never lied to someone to get to the truth?”

He had. Both he and her father candidly admitted to the tactic for the same reason. They were unrepentant. When they spoke of it, Charlotte didn’t think them wrong. She understood deception was necessary on occasion.

“No, I’m not that naïve.”

“Understanding a deception doesn’t make it more palatable.”

She shook her head no in pained agreement. It hurt that Atakan felt he had to resort to the tack with her. Like it hurt him when he learned she lied. She was sick over the damage her stupidity had caused.

“What happens now?”

“We go back to camp,” he said.

“No, I mean what happens between you and me?”

“As I said, you and I aren’t done. I’ve called Refik. We’ll use his office. Let’s go.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

All the way off the ship and into camp, Charlotte went over what she’d say to Atakan. The only thing left to discuss was whether he was willing to forgive her. She hoped once they were in friendlier territory she’d convince him of the sincerity of her remorse.

Atakan rapped on Refik’s door.

Refik stepped out. “It’s yours for as long as you need.”

“Thank you.” Atakan followed Charlotte inside, locking the door behind them.

“Sit.” He went around the desk and sat in Refik’s chair.

“Atakan, I know you’re disappointed in me. I’m disappointed in myself. But, I truly---”

“We’re not here to talk about your struggles with the truth. We’re here to discuss Aaron Waterman.”

“Aaron?” The mention of him came out of left field. “What’s to talk about?”

“While on the Greek ship, I received word the Swiss arrested a man in Zurich, a facilitator, if you will. He arranges the shipment of illegal artifacts for collectors.”

“And?”

“Due to your relationship with Sun Bear and therefore with Waterman and this project, our government had his name flagged through Interpol. The Zurich man’s phone records show several recent calls to Waterman.”

Her heart sank hearing Aaron’s name connected to her. This was the worst day of her life. After Atakan’s tough interview about Tischenko, she never imagined things could get worse.

“Translation-Aaron’s actively searching,” she said.

Atakan nodded. “You willingly took Sun Bear’s money to obtain a place on this recovery team. When you accepted were you aware of Waterman’s involvement with artifact smugglers?”

“His prior involvement, yes, but I’m not aware of any present issues. I’d like to clarify a point about the contribution—”

“The point is you knew of his past.”

“Yes, but my stepfather is an equal partner in Sun Bear. I didn’t then, or now, see the money as coming from Aaron, just the corporation. I thought I made that clear.”

“The point is, whether directly or indirectly, Waterman is also funding you.”

“I took the money. I told you why. It was a bad decision. Haven’t you ever made a bad decision?”

“Today has shown your decision making process is in dire need of improvement. My ill choices cannot compete.”

The ragged sputtering from one of the shuttle boat’s loud engines docking made normal conversation impossible. Charlotte glanced outside. It was the most dilapidated of the shuttles and belched a steady stream of black smoke. The nauseating odor of diesel fumes drifted into the room from the open window. First the ammonia screwed up her sinuses, now the boat fumes were making her queasy. What next?

Atakan waited until the ferryman cut the engine before he continued. “It is not so simple as a ‘bad decision.’”

“Atakan please let me explain.”

“I’m not finished. In your application to work in Turkey, you claimed you’re ethically and morally opposed to artifact smuggling. Yet you profited from a man whose deals in this practice, thereby compromising your ethics.”

“I can explain.”

“Explain? How?” he asked leaning his arms on the desk. He sounded like a trial lawyer, more specifically a prosecutor. “In essence, you validated his actions. How do I trust your explanation when I know your morals and ethics have a price?”

Charlotte recoiled from the harsh indictment. A short time ago, he teased and laughed with her in the lab. Where had that Atakan gone?

“At least let me tell you the circumstances of my taking the money.”

“Please do,” he said and sat back.

“I was home for the holidays. My stepfather called me into his library. He handed me a small box wrapped in Christmas paper and said ‘open it.’ I did. Inside was a letter from MIAR thanking Sun Bear for their contribution. Frank said, ‘The donation was on the condition they find a place for you on the project you want. Merry Christmas.’

“Yes, I knew the source of the money. Yes, I could’ve turned it down. In hind sight, I should’ve asked Frank for the money to begin with, but I didn’t want to. I was too proud.”

“First you claim it was a bad decision. Now, it’s pride. Is there an end to your excuses?”

Charlotte didn’t know how much more she could handle between the arrest, getting caught in the lie, and this new twist. Emotionally, she was fragmenting. She envied the release tears brought others. Even if she wanted to cry, she’d never resort to it. She had to maintain her composure. Nick and her father said they hated women who used tears as a defense. She doubted Atakan would view them as anything else either. He’d have the same philosophy as Nick and her dad. The more a woman cried, the more convinced they were of guilt.

She got up and poured a glass of water from the big bottle Refik kept in his office cooler and sat down again. She took a long swallow and concentrated on the feel of the cool liquid as it slid down her throat.

Atakan watched her closely. She wondered what was going through his mind. Were his feelings toward her restricted to his job for the Ministry? Had their personal relationship touched him enough to overcome suspicion? Would it hurt him if the government sent her home? Or, would he be the primary source for implementing that action?

“Are you going to explain this so called pride, or do I come to my own conclusions?”

She finished the water and set the glass on the desk.

“Please understand; I’ve gone to the finest universities on Frank’s money. Everything was on his dime, my clothes, my car, the travel expenses for my intern assignment in Israel. I appreciate what he did for me, but I wanted to get accepted for this project on my own...on my own. I applied last summer and after months I still hadn’t heard from MIAR. I was crushed thinking I was going to get rejected. Then, out of the blue, I was accepted because of Sun Bear. Did I have second thoughts? No. In that moment, I only saw a shot at my dream coming true.”

He listened with the same implacable expression of the earlier interrogation.

“And afterward, when the excitement of the moment you speak of died down, did you think beyond your gift?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t want to.”

“You said you knew Waterman dealt with black market artifacts.”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I’m the confidential informant who turned him into the authorities. If you know about the case, then you should know who the informant was.” She threw her hands up in frustration. “Or, did you just read the parts of the report that fit with your desire to condemn the means I came into the project?”

She regretted the nasty comment the minute the words left her lips. This wasn’t the time for defiance.

“How poorly you regard me.”

“On the contrary, I have enormous respect for you.”

“Ah, so lying is your unique way of showing respect.”

“Atakan—”

“Returning to Waterman, when you informed did you realize how much money relinquishing the artifacts cost him?”

“No. I didn’t care. What he did was criminal. It’s wrong.”

“I wonder, is your strong disapproval because he’s a private collector, or does it stem more from your feelings toward him personally?”

Her explanation hadn’t swayed Atakan. She changed tactics, appealing to the archaeologist rather than the Ministry man.

“Both. Knowledge is meant to be shared. Artifacts are the keys to history’s doors, to knowing and understanding the past. They’re not supposed to be squirreled away in the mansions where only the privileged few, like him, can appreciate them.”

“I applaud your passion. Tell me, what if it’s a major museum who illegally acquired a piece to exhibit publicly?”

She nodded. She knew where he was going.

“You can anticipate where my question is leading. How far does your passion extend?”

“Would I be as condemning?”

Yes was the correct response, the easiest and most expedient under the circumstances. In all honesty, a great chasm between what is proper and what is practical exists. She recognized valid arguments for each view.

“You want a snap answer to a complex issue.” She chose her words with careful consideration. “We both heard the horror stories. Collections repatriated to their countries of origin and displayed in regional museums have had some negative results. The smaller facilities often lack funding for proper security. Some priceless pieces have fallen victim again, only to a new set of thieves and looters.

“Local facilities don’t have the foot traffic. The number of visitors are a drop in the bucket compared to the numbers who’d see the collection if left with a major museum. Conversely, isn’t it the right of the country of origin to be the primary source to showcase their treasures?”

“You look to me for an answer?”

“You must have thoughts on the subject,” she said.

“I represent the Ministry. For me, there’s no debate, my country, my heritage. It is my government’s right to succeed or fail in the manner in which our artifacts are treated.”

Charlotte was playing Devil’s Advocate to a cause she wasn’t completely for or against. It was a thorny issue argued throughout the archaeological community.

“Let me offer an example.”

“I’m listening,” Atakan said.

“Your government sued the Met for the return of the Lydian Hoard and won.”

“You pick a sore subject. I know your intention with this topic, but...” he said, spreading his hands. “Go on.”

“We can acknowledge the collection was beautifully displayed after it was repatriated. Unfortunately, the prize piece, the Golden Hippocampus, was stolen and replaced with a fake. The whereabouts of the real one remains a mystery. That magnificent piece is lost to the world now and that’s just one incident. Can you truly say the collection was better served by being repatriated? Be honest Atakan. Don’t answer as a representative of the Ministry but for yourself.”

“Yes, I still believe the artifacts should’ve been returned to us. Yes, what happened as a result was terrible. We fail and we learn. We are constantly improving the way we manage our cultural heritage. I repeat...our cultural heritage. Who are you, and by you, I mean the collective mindset of the major museums, to decide whether we are worthy of custody over our treasures?”

Atakan stretched forward and hammered the desk with his finger. “We were an empire with laws and art and sophisticated language when you were still dancing around bonfires and adding slabs to your Stonehenge.”

His dark eyes flattened. “I answer you, not as Representative Vadim, but as myself, Atakan Vadim. We are entitled to what is ours.”

“Fair enough. I’m not trying to offend you. I’m presenting another view. Not necessarily mine,” Charlotte added.

“You deny agreement with institutions while you argue in favor of it.” He relaxed back in his chair and studied her for what felt like an interminable amount of time.

“I swore I wouldn’t deceive you again. You asked me a question and I gave you an honest response.”

“Yes or no, would you report a violation of artifact acquisition by a renowned museum?”

“I don’t deserve this kind of distrust, not for this issue. Other than take questionable corporate money, I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Yes or no!” His palm slammed the desk.

The sharp crack startled her and Charlotte jerked backward.

Atakan hadn’t flinched.

“I...”

“You hesitate.”

“No, I--”

“It remains to be seen if you’d turn-in Waterman again, if he planned to donate a stolen piece for popular exhibit.”

“Donate? Aaron? No way, he’s no philanthropist.” The idea was laughable.

“He’d do it for glory.”

“Glory?” Talk about a word she’d never associate with Aaron.

“I visited America. I’ve seen your museum displays with their brass nameplates honoring donors and wings with their names carved in marble.”

“He’s not into glory.”

“You evaded answering my museum question.”

“I hesitated. I’m nervous. In the highly unlikely event he intended to donate a piece, yes, I’d turn him in.”

“Because it’s Waterman or because it’s right?”

“Both.” She reached across the desk and with a tentative touch laid her hand on Atakan’s. He didn’t reject the gesture this time, which she took as a positive sign.

“I lied to you once and I regret it with all my heart. I never lied about the donation or the source of my acceptance.” She squeezed his hand a little harder. “I swear to you, my love and respect for artifacts is not less than yours.”

Atakan withdrew his hand. He closed his eyes and briefly massaged the lids with his fingertips. He opened his eyes again, stood, and crossed to the window. An eternity seemed to pass while he stared out in silence.

He bowed his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, wincing as he applied pressure. He stayed like that for a few more seconds before letting go and raising his head.

“This is why I do not get close to team members,” he said at last, his back still to her.

“Does that mean you believe me?” She worried he’d say “no.”

“Me, yes,” he said, turning to her. “The Ministry...” he shrugged.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Atakan left Charlotte at the door of the women’s dorm and returned to his quarters after grabbing a cola from the kitchen. He set the Pepsi on the dresser, kneeled on the floor and reached under his cot for the travel case with his prescription. Setting the case on the bed, he removed the bottle and shook out a single pill. He took the thousand milligram Paracetamol sparingly, preferring to use a lower dosage medicine. The higher milligram pills upset his stomach on occasion. Only when he had a blistering headache did he resort to them. The cola was part of his headache routine. When his headaches were bad enough to take the heavier dose, he drank a coffee, tea, or a cola with it. In the past, he found the caffeine seemed to help speed the pain killer through his system.

He chased the pill with the Pepsi and waited. When relief started to kick in he called the Director.

Firat answered on the first ring.

“It’s Atakan.”

“You interviewed her in depth about Waterman?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“She says she has nothing to do with him. I think she’s telling the truth.”

The Director was quiet. Atakan knew what was going through Firat’s mind because it was going through his too. He heard Firat give a long, deep sigh and he braced for what the Director had to say.

“You are certain? You have no doubts?”

“I am certain,” Atakan said.

“You believed her before and she lied.”

“She explained, and I understand why she lied at the time.”

“You know the consequences if you’re wrong again?”

“Yes.”

“If I cannot trust your judgment, you cannot stay with the investigative detail. It’s an automatic transfer out of the unit, you know this? I have no choice.”

Atakan knew the rules. He’d lose his rank as a senior investigator and be sent to an administrative detail. He’d never be allowed to work the field again.

“I understand.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

“Who were those uniformed men you and Atakan left with yesterday?” Ursula asked as she pulled her hair into a ponytail and put the brush in a drawer.

“The Greek Coast Guard, they’re investigating Ekrem’s death,” Charlotte said.

“Still?”

“Yes. It’s a murder case now.”

“That’s interesting. What did they want from you?”

“To interview me again,” she said, wanting to forget the entire incident.

“That explains Atakan’s presence. He’ll update the Ministry officials.” Ursula smiled. “Too bad.”

“Too bad?”

“I hoped you two were hanging out because you’d finally evolved into more than just colleagues, as you put it.”

“I told you I’m not looking for a lover.”
“Maybe you should. You were very quiet and moody at dinner
last night. Getting laid might cheer you up,” Ursula said, cocking a brow.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Are you decent?” Refik called from outside the door.

“Yes,” Charlotte and Ursula said in unison.

Refik held the screen door open while he wrote on his clipboard. The menacing first few notes of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony played from his cell phone. He stuck the pencil behind his ear, tucked the clipboard under an arm, and read the text message. He stood in the open doorway and double-thumbed a response.

Charlotte grabbed a flyswatter from a wall hook and battled a yellow jacket who buzzed her. Ursula used a rolled up magazine as a weapon to fight the bug homing in on her. Two more yellow jackets flew into the room behind the attackers.

“Refik, close the door. You’re letting in bugs,” Charlotte ordered. She batted the one after her to the floor and smacked it dead. The bug dive bombing Ursula switched victims and targeted Charlotte, stinging her on the arm. “Ow.” She started to flick it off. “Ow! Hey!” she said with a wince when Ursula struck her hard on the arm with the magazine.

“Sorry,” Ursula said, showing no remorse.

Refik shut the door and finished with his text then brought the clipboard up. “Ursula, you have an early dive tomorrow. Make sure you’re back at a decent time tonight,” he said, removing the pencil and writing a notation on the board.

“I will.”

“Charlotte, you and Atakan are due to dive next hour. Either help out in the conservation lab or return with me to the Suraya and help out there.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“I’m leaving in ten minutes,” Refik said and left.

“When the investigators re-interviewed you, what did they want to know?” Ursula asked as she applied a pleasant scented, non-carroty smelling suntan lotion to her face and neck.

“They think a Ukrainian named Tischenko killed Ekrem and asked if I knew him.”

“How strange. Why’d they think you would?”

Charlotte watched Ursula’s expression change from casual interest to looking perplexed.

“Who knows?”

“They must’ve found a link between you and this Tischenko. Why bring him up otherwise?”

“It’s a natural question, a lead they have to follow.” Charlotte had second thoughts about mentioning Tischenko by name to someone not directly involved in the case.

“Did Atakan question you too? Is that why you secreted yourselves in Refik’s office when you returned?” Ursula’s casual attitude returned as she put the lotion away.

“No. We talked about something else.”

Ursula looked like she expected Charlotte to elaborate, when she didn’t Ursula changed the subject. “Uma and I are taking the local bus to Marmaris. Can I bring you anything?”

“Toothpaste, Colgate or another well known brand, the stuff they sell in the village tastes like shampoo. And a lip balm with a good SPF factor.”

“Since we’re talking about Atakan, I’ve got a question for you.” Charlotte wanted to ask Ursula why she was a bitch to him about his job. He might’ve been okay with the way she spoke to him, but Charlotte wasn’t.

“We’ll talk later. Our bus comes soon and I have to go.” Ursula hooked the strap of her purse over her shoulder and left.

Charlotte considered whether or not she should tell Atakan about the conversation and the fact she mentioned Tischenko to Ursula. She’d better let him know, in case Ursula brought the topic up. Shit.

Chapter Thirty-Five

“Ready?” Charlotte pressed her backside against the deck rail for support and balance as she slipped on her fins.

“Yes,” Atakan said. “Where are Ursula and Uma off to today? I saw them waiting for the bus.

“Shopping in Marmaris.”

“Ursula spending her lover’s money?”

“No idea, but speaking of lovers, she’s desperate to start a rumor about us.” Charlotte flashed him a nervous smile. She felt awkward discussing a perceived intimacy between them. She thought it best to give him a heads up in case talk rippled through camp. After Ursula’s inquiry following the night they walked on the beach, Charlotte expected gossip, but nothing was said. Atakan’s influence maybe, but she doubted they’d skate twice.

“Oh? She thinks we’re having sex?”

From his tone, he didn’t seem too bothered by Ursula’s assumption. “She was curious about the Greeks of course. It was the time we spent alone in Refik’s office that got her gossip antenna up.

“What did she ask you regarding the investigators?”

“General stuff, who were they, what did they want.”

“Go on.”

“I told her who they were. She was interested in the case.”

“She asked you about the interview?”

“Yes, but from the glint in her eyes, she preferred to hear steamy details about us.”

“What did you tell her?”

Wake from a passing fishing boat hit the Suraya. Atakan immediately widened his stance as the water slapped the hull. He barely swayed with the rolling movement.

“That we weren’t lovers. What did you think I’d say?” she asked, pressing her butt harder against the rail as the boat rocked.

“Go back to the part with the Greeks. You said she asked about it?”

“Yes.” Charlotte was thinking of ways to phrase the Tischenko screw-up so Atakan didn’t get pissed.

“What did you tell her about the interview?”

“I kind of said something I shouldn’t have.”

“Go on.”

“I said they asked about a guy named Tischenko who they think murdered Ekrem.”

A serious look of concern crossed his face as he listened.

“What else did you say?”

He hadn’t jumped on her for the mistake, which she took as a good sign. She switched directions to the better part of her conversation with Ursula.

“I didn’t discuss our private talks, if that’s what you’re asking.”

He hadn’t mentioned what transpired between them since they left Refik’s office the day before. Charlotte wasn’t looking to revive the issues, but she still felt compelled to express her gratitude.

“Atakan, I want to tell you again, how much your trust means to me. I appreciate the fact you haven’t thrown what I did in my face. It---”

“Stop. You answered my questions. I’m satisfied with your answers. Let’s not keep treading old ground. How did you explain my presence at the interview on the Greek ship?”

“Once I set her straight regarding our not being lovers, she accepted you attended to get an update for the Ministry.”

“Charlotte.” Atakan moved close. “Be careful who you discuss the case with, especially the connection with Tischenko,” he said in a quiet voice.

“Are you concerned because it was Ursula asking? She was definitely an ass to you. But, she hasn’t done anything weird since the night she and Uma showed up at the bar.”

“Anything we know of and lower your voice.”

Everyone was busy in other areas of the deck. They were alone at the far end of the bow. “No one’s listening,” she whispered.

“Speak softly anyway. The circumstances surrounding the murder remain too much of a mystery. Until they can pinpoint who’s involved the less details that get out the better.”

“I know. It was a dumbass thing to do. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Just be more careful.”

She and Atakan joined the other divers mid-ship where Refik waited to speak to them.

Charlotte was anxious to hear Refik’s decision on exploring the stern’s hold. He and Talat ate breakfast in his office conferring about the situation. Talat joined the waiting teams on deck but refused to discuss the results.

The low buzz of conversation stopped as Refik came out from the bridge.

“Talat and I conducted an intensive inspection of the fragmented deck and the damage done by the collapsed section. Several troubling issues conflate into a uniquely dangerous environment and the possible need for specialized equipment. My decision will be based on the outcome.”

It wasn’t the news Charlotte wanted to hear, but it wasn’t terrible either.

Refik hadn’t designated assignments yet. For the past week, the divers used underwater scooters to further explore the area around the farthest grid. Charlotte and Atakan huddled in a corner of the bow and conspired to get the enviable detail.

Like the others, they wanted the fun assignment and planned on double-teaming Refik. Charlotte explained the concept of “good cop-bad cop” to Atakan, adding they could use a loose version of the same thing.

“I shall be the good cop. I’ll lobby from the more civilized position. It suits my nature,” Atakan said.

Charlotte refrained from commenting on how well he played bad cop with her.

“What does your bad cop role consist of? Because threatening Refik is not such a good thing. Opinion only,” he said, looking unconvinced she’d succeed.

“You take the bad cop concept too literally. You can do your diplomatic thing. I will badger him in a pleasant, yet firm, feminine way.”

Atakan listened, a bemused expression on his face. “You will nag him into submission.”

“What are you, the designated Ambassador of Misogyny? F.Y.I., soft badgering is not nagging.”

“I doubt he’ll see the distinction.”

“Whatever.”

#

“Take the scooters.” Refik raised his hands in a sign of surrender. “On one condition, do not speak to me for the rest of the day, especially you,” Refik said to Charlotte. He shot Atakan a look of amazement. “A stream of chatter without a breath, why does she dive with an oxygen tank, clearly, she doesn’t need it?”

“Fortunately, she cannot talk underwater.”

Charlotte opened her mouth to jump into the conversation.

“Go,” Refik ordered before she could, then turned and hurried away.

Charlotte and Atakan slipped into the water from the Suraya’s dive platform. Uma and Talat lowered the scooters into the water next to them.

“Where do you want us?” Charlotte asked.

“We’re four hundred meters out from the bow so far. You two start at five hundred meters from the bow. Other teams are working off the starboard and stern,” Talat said.

“Commencing countdown, engines on,” Charlotte sang Space Oddity to herself and fired up her engine.

They flipped on the scooter’s headlights and dived, side-by-side, gliding over the wreck. At the far grid, both Charlotte and Atakan increased their speed to the scooter’s maximum. They wasted several precious minutes of dive time racing around like teenagers with new snowboards. She checked her watch. They’d agreed on deck to not fool around for more than three minutes. Time was up. She looped to her right while Atakan looped left. They paralleled each and began a methodical search of the seabed. The arrangement gave them a one-hundred-eighty degree view with some overlap in the middle. If one of them spotted an object of interest, they’d split off and investigate while the other remained stationary.

They’d covered thirty-five meters when a field of white fragments popped into Charlotte’s peripheral vision. The pale patches oscillated in the distance as she turned to look through the scooter’s wake. In all likelihood, they were more amphoras partially buried in silt. She wondered how broken pottery ended up so far from the wreck site. No identifiable artifacts in this area appeared on the original survey. Strong currents must have uncovered the relics since then. She signaled Atakan and pointed. He nodded and circled as she motored away to investigate.

As the scooter’s engine stirred more of the sand from the find, it took her a moment to realize what she’d found.

Bones.

Lots of bones.

She waved Atakan over and circled.

A field of remains. Human or animal?

Chapter Thirty-Six

“Horse bones are a good find,” Charlotte said, calculating their potential for her theory.

“Admit it, you were hoping for human,” Atakan said.

“Kind of. Buried in the sand the way many were, I thought it was possible.” She shrugged. “I have mixed feelings about digging down for relics and coming up with a human skull.”

“Since you found the field, shouldn’t you be doing the analysis?”

“Me? God, no. Any parts south of the skull and above the legs is fuzzy blur in my memory bank.”

“You took a class in this and don’t remember anything?”

Atakan whispered.

“Three years ago and I struggled through it. I sucked at high school biology let alone faunal analysis. What about you?”

“I’m happy to identify living animals...dogs, cats, sheep. I don’t do bones,” Atakan said.

The team arranged the equine bones on several long tables in the conservation tent. Later teams found more beyond the field Charlotte and Atakan discovered. Talat and Uma laid the bones out in the same pattern they’d been found on the seabed. Layers of silt left many of them in reasonably good shape. Teeth of varied size mixed in with the skeletal remains were also recovered.

Uma held the distinct distal limb bone up for closer examination. She slowly turned it then placed it back on the table and measured the length and circumference.

Few of the scientists had experience with zooarchaeology other than a basic mandatory course of study. Those who did, like Charlotte, confessed to forgetting more than they remembered.

The group deferred to Uma who’d taken two semesters. She tried to reject the job, arguing her limited knowledge wouldn’t help much.

“Uma suffering from an attack of humility, who’d have thought it?” Charlotte commented to Atakan is a low voice.

In spite of her protests, the group voted. Uma lost.

“What do you think, pony or horse?” Talat asked her.

“I’m not an expert,” Uma warned again. “From the size, I’d say a horse, and a large one, for the time. As I recall, most Bronze Age equines were about one-hundred-forty centimeters...fourteen hands,” she clarified. “I believe once the test results come back we’ll find these horses closer to fifteen hands.” Her mouth turned down in a dismissive manner. “Of course, this is nothing compared to the Warmbloods in my country.”

So much for humility.

Uma continued her analysis moving from bone set to bone set.

Charlotte stepped away from the displays and went outside.

Everyone was focused on Uma and didn’t notice her exit, except for Atakan.

Charlotte sank down under an olive tree overcome with a sudden sadness.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said.

“Liar.” He joined her on the ground. “Here I was ready to make my argument against your latest silly connection to Troy’s fame for horses. I foresaw you’d make an association. Instead, you wandered off. Why?”

She hesitated to discuss what she felt. Atakan was certain to laugh.

“Charlotte?”

“You’re right. My mind did go to Troy, and I was preparing my logical connection to throw at you.”

“I’m here.”

“Maybe later.”

Atakan didn’t press her. He stretched out in the shade and lay with his hands behind his head, eyes closed.

They sat quiet for several minutes each to their own thoughts. In the distance, a local boatman delivered fresh water to the Suraya for the desalination tanks. Farther out, where the sea appeared to drop off the edge of the earth, white fishing boats dotted the blue along with the larger dots of the occasional yacht. Birds darted back and forth on the beach, chasing the receding water of a gentle wave and running away from the next one. On the hills, lavender Wisteria grew wild among the scrub and rocks. It was the perfect landscape for a travel brochure’s picture of tranquility. The peaceful scene clashed with the German hip-hop CD Ursula played in the kitchen.

“Weird music,” Charlotte said, glancing over her shoulder in the direction of the kitchen.

“Pardon?”

“German hip-hop, it’s sneaking up on creepy. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Haven’t a clue, I don’t listen to hip-hop,” he said.

“What do you listen to?”

“Latin music.”

“Latin? You?” Atakan and salsa music, the pairing was almost as weird as Ursula’s Gangster Rap. “Like who?”

“Enrique Iglesias is my favorite. I also like Marco Solis and Jenni Rivera.”

She liked Iglesias too. She hadn’t heard of the others. But--salsa Atakan? In a million years, she wouldn’t have put those two together. “What else do you listen to?”

Atakan opened his eyes and turned his head to look at her. “Caravan music,” he said with a smile.

Charlotte wasn’t sure if he was making that up or not. “You mean haunting, deserty tunes, or is that a euphemism for belly dancer music?”

“There’s some similarity, a shared rhythm with some of the music, depending on the artist and the country they’re from. Much of it is along the lines of Desert Rose, the Sting, Cheb Mami tune. I’ll let you listen to a few on my iPod one day.”

He rolled over onto his side, resting his head on his fist. “Are you ready to tell me what’s bothering you, now?”

“You’ll laugh at me. You often do.”

“Only when you talk nonsense. Maybe I won’t this time. Try me.”

“It’s the bones of all those horses. I suddenly felt a terrible empathy for them. How terrified they must’ve been. The water rising, the noise of the storm, the wind roaring, the waves slamming against the hull. Animals are sensitive to noise. Worse, tied to iron rings on the hull, there was no escape for most of the horses. The ones who managed to snap their tethers weren’t any better off. We know how far some managed to swim. Disoriented, getting tossed and turned in the turbulent water, struggling to find solid footing and not understanding what is happening to them, can you imagine their panic?”

Atakan looked puzzled by her comment. A strange reaction, since she didn’t see her observation as particularly unusual.

“I’m curious,” Atakan said. “Does this empathy extend to the crew? Because I’ve never heard you mention you suffer this sadness for them, when they endured the same deadly conditions.”

Of course, she’d thought about them in general terms. What were they like? What gods did they pray to? What were their values? All contributed in some measure to the civilization we are today, for good and bad. She cared, just not as much as she did for the horses. Potentially, Trojan horses, horses from Priam’s own stable. The ancient crew mattered to her, but not over proving the existence of Hektor and Priam and even the loathsome Paris. Establishing the reality of their lives was everything. She compared her passion to that of those who search for the lost tomb of Alexander the Great or Cleopatra’s tomb.

“My empathy extends to the crew, yes,” she said, blowing off the question with a half honest answer. She considered the size of the horses. Horses used for war chariots were the more common smaller ones of the period. The ship didn’t carry other war materials, none found as yet. These bigger horses would suit a royal chariot. A chariot used to make an impression, a regal display of power and wealth.

“You know...” she said, thinking out loud. “I bet we find more than equine bones. I bet we find some identifiers like ornamental cheek pieces to their bridles or jeweled headpieces. They could give us the original port or the destination.”

Atakan closed his eyes, took a deep breath and let it out in a long, exasperated sigh. Charlotte suspected he was counting to ten. When he opened his eyes he looked on the verge of choking her.

“I knew it,” he said. “I thought you’d try and make a connection. You really do think these are Trojan horses, stallions of Hektor’s, no doubt. That is why you feel so sorry for the animals.”

“I never said Hektor’s.”

His cell phone rang before he could respond. He sat up and unclipped it from his waistband. Atakan’s expression changed from exasperation to one of concern as he listened. He didn’t say anything after he clicked off. He appeared lost in thought.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Heather Hilliard is missing.”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

The news snapped Charlotte out of her sad empathy for the horses and thoughts of Troy. “What do you mean missing?”

Some of the group from the lab came outside. Atakan glanced their way. “Come.” He stood and offered his hand. “We can talk better in private.”

Clasping his hand, she got to her feet. “Sure. Where?”

“Away from camp. The café is good. Let me grab my wallet.”

As they entered the living quarters, they nearly collided with a man leaving. Atakan remained in the doorway and blocked his exit.

Charlotte was acquainted with most of the villagers who came and went from the camp. She didn’t recognize the bearded man. Shorter than Atakan and heavyset, the stranger was moon-faced with wide, rubbery lips, and piggy eyes. Not someone she’d forget seeing.

“I’ve never seen you before. May I ask your name?” Atakan asked, not moving from the man’s path.

“Basri.” The man extended his hand for Atakan to shake. “Basri Damla. I’m from the village.”

“What are you doing in here?” Atakan gave the man’s hand a perfunctory shake, never taking his eyes off him. “This is a private area.”

Damla pointed to a basket of fruit and vegetables. “The basket is from our family farm. My brother usually comes but he is busy. He asked me to bring these supplies to you.”

Indifferent to the bluntness of his question to Damla and the insinuation he was a sneak, Atakan said, “Don’t move.” Then he walked around the room double checking nothing was disturbed.

“I do not steal,” Damla said in a sharper tone than the locals used with the scientists.

“For future reference, deliveries are dropped off at our team leader’s office or left in the kitchen area,” Atakan said, rejoining him.

“Where are they?”

“Refik Mahir is in charge. His is the small building at the entrance of the camp. The large building is the kitchen and dining area.”

Damla thanked him and turned to leave. Charlotte stepped to the side and held the door open. The strong smell of sour sweat and moldy clothes hung in the air as he brushed passed her.

“Whew.” Charlotte flapped her hand in front of her face to clear the funky stink of body odor that lingered.

She closed the screen and went over to Atakan. “No one is around. Tell me about Heather.
“Not here, I told you,” he said with enough heat, she knew not to push him.

Atakan slid his overnight bag from under his bed and opened it on top of his bunk. He pulled out a thin chain attached to the inside of the waistband of his shorts. Two small keys hung on the chain. He removed a green metal box and unlocked it with the smaller key. He pulled his wallet out, relocked the box, and put it into the case which he stored under the bed again.

“You’re kind of paranoid. No one else locks their stuff up like that.”

“Force of habit. Let’s go.”

Chapter Thirty-Eight

“Charlotte--”

“I’m sorry, Atakan. What did you say?” He’d chosen a corner table away from two village men having tea and told her the circumstances surrounding Heather’s disappearance.

“I can see the worry in your eyes.”

“I’m fine.”

He shook his head. “No, you’re not.”

“I feel sorry for Heather.”

“You’re a little scared too, I think. Something bad has happened to two of the three people on the gulet.”

“Scared...no. Tischenko saw me at the airport. Between the airport and the marina he had ample opportunity to harm me, if he’d wanted. But this development with Heather is strange.”

The more she thought about the two crimes, the more questions seemed to arise. Ekrem’s was an execution and assumed connected to his job. Heather didn’t deal with criminals. Was it possible the crimes were unrelated?

“Are you sure Tischenko is behind Heather’s disappearance?”

“Ninety-nine percent sure, why?”

“I don’t understand taking her. It doesn’t make sense.”

Charlotte couldn’t shake the feeling they were overlooking some clue. There had to be something, a reason behind the action.

“The police and Ministry are working on a couple of theories.”

“I hope for her sake they work fast.”

Atakan reached across the table and took her hands in his, an extraordinary show of tenderness.

“I presented the worst scenario. I don’t believe the results will be as bad.”

“Define ‘as bad.’”

“Tischenko won’t stay in Istanbul long. He’s too well known to us. If he’s spotted, we’ll detain him. We always do.”

“All right, presuming he left then what?”

“If he has her in the Ukraine, he’ll beat and rape her. It’s an opportunity he won’t pass up.”

“Rape...”

“Rape is survivable, as is a beating.” Atakan squeezed her hands. “Money is his god. He won’t kill her unless he’s paid to and we know of no one who wants her dead.”

“Still--”

“We’ll find her. Whatever’s been done, she’ll heal eventually.”

Rape was rape, traumatic to mind and body but she had to agree with Atakan’s assessment: Heather would survive.

Atakan was quiet, letting her digest his reassurance. He stroked the back of her fingers with his thumbs. Somewhere he’d seen this done, or someone must’ve told him it was a way to offer comfort. He wasn’t very good at it. His thumbs were too rough and he rubbed too hard. His lack of finesse aside, she did find it oddly comforting.

“Want to go?” Atakan asked.

She nodded and he released her hands. He left twice the amount of money that the coffee cost on the table and stood.

“After you,” he said, letting her lead.

Damla and another man passed Charlotte and Atakan on the opposite side of the road as they walked towards camp. She recognized the second man. He’d ferried her back and forth to the Suraya a few times. He smiled and waved when he saw her. She smiled and waved in return. Damla briefly looked her way. He exchanged no greetings but stared hard at Atakan. If Atakan noticed he didn’t show it.

“I bet that Damla fellow tells the boatman you’re a suspicious jerk or makes some derogatory comment. If he does the town gossips will blow it out of proportion. You know how these provincial villages are. Hopefully, with all the funds our folks bring to local businesses, the blowback will be minimal.”

Charlotte walked several yards unaware Atakan hadn’t kept up with her. “What do you think?” When he didn’t answer, she turned looking for him. He’d stopped in front of a shop window. The store sold new and refurbished cell phones, CD and DVD players, and small kitchen appliances. She joined Atakan, curious about what held his interest.

“Are we going inside?”

“No,” he said.

“Why’d you stop?”

“I’m watching Damla.”

“You are?” She leaned to the side trying to get the same angle as Atakan. In the reflection of the glass window, she watched as Damla and the ferryman crossed the road. She glanced over as they entered the bakery’s patio cafe.

“They went into the café,” she told Atakan.

“I know. I was subtly tracking their movements until you decided to stare.”

“I did not stare, and how was I supposed to know you were doing your spy thing?” she said, facing forward again. “If you ask me, you have an unhealthy preoccupation with this guy. He delivered to the wrong building, big deal. Let it go.”

They’d attracted the attention of the shop owner who came outside. Middle-aged with a thick, black mustache shot with grey, a shaved head, and pink-tipped ears that stuck out, he excitedly invited them in to see additional merchandise. Atakan stood in front of the used DVD players on display in the window. Now, the owner wanted to show them the “very good, very fine, brand new” players he carried.

Atakan politely declined and the owner appealed to Charlotte who also declined. Then, the owner tugged on Atakan’s arm and walked him a few feet away to speak in private. The man lowered his voice, but she still heard every word. He described the various pornographic DVD’s he could obtain. “Beautiful Russian women, young blondes,” he whispered.

Again, Atakan declined. The owner gave him a disappointed sigh. He shot a glance at Charlotte and said low, “Maybe you come back later, alone, yes?”

Atakan shook his head and said, “No.”

The owner looked Charlotte up and down, smiled, turned his back to her and said something to Atakan she didn’t hear.

Atakan chuckled. “I appreciate the offer, but no thanks,” he said, smirking at Charlotte.

The owner shrugged and went inside.

“What did he say?” she asked.

“He said he had a source who could make me a ‘personal’ DVD for ‘my pleasure’...of you.”

“You mean a dirty movie?”

“That was the general proposition.”

“Disgusting,” she said, a little hurt and more than a little offended Atakan found the suggestion laughable. She wasn’t a head-turning Victoria’s Secret model, but she wasn’t the dog’s breakfast either.

“We were discussing your fixation with Damla before we got interrupted,” she said, tight voiced.

“I am concerned with cause. He isn’t what he claims. I question his sudden appearance here.”

“He said he shares a family farm. You question that?”

“I shook his hand. It was too soft for a farmer. Their hands are always rough and calloused.”

Charlotte thought he picked a superficial thing to base an opinion on. “You haven’t seen him before and his hands are in good shape, so what? Maybe he lived in the city for awhile.”

“Maybe, but he bears watching.”

“Whatever makes you happy.” Charlotte started walking.

“Don’t go yet.” Atakan hooked Charlotte’s arm and pulled her back. “I need your help.”

“To do what?”

“Go back to the bakery. Buy a loaf of bread or a dessert, something that requires the woman to spend a minute to wrap. While you wait, make small talk with Damla to distract him.”

Atakan pointed her in the direction of the bakery and gently nudged her forward.

“Not so fast,” she said, resisting. “Where are you gonna be while I’m chatting with him?”

“I’ll be out of sight but nearby.”

She groaned, wrinkling her nose at him. “I don’t want to.”

“Just do what I say...please.”

“How nearby?”

“Close.”

“The master of the non-answer. I’m not real crazy about this. He stinks. What if he thinks I’m flirting? I don’t want Damla getting any twisted ideas.”

“I didn’t ask you to kiss him. But, if I were you, I wouldn’t stick my tongue out at him--opinion only.” He ignored her, “you’re a riot,” comment. “Just talk while I circle to the rear. I want pictures.” He unclipped his cell phone.

“Fine, but make it fast. This won’t last long.”

Grinning, Atakan said, “He might surprise you. With the right encouragement he might offer to bathe for you.”

“Very funny. Go.” She shooed him away and headed for the café.

Charlotte bought two Bounty Bars and all the mini bread loaves the bakery woman had in her counter. She kept the candy and asked the woman to wrap the loaves separately. She nibbled on one Bounty and started a casual conversation with Damla. She’d steered the conversation to the family farm he’d mentioned, asking general questions about their crops and the location. She tried to pin down where it was which she’d report to Atakan. Damla’s answers were too vague to be of much use. He boldly scanned her breasts and body as they spoke and kept his answers enigmatic.

Atakan might be onto something with this guy.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Ursula stepped into the small market and out of sight. Across the street, Charlotte exited the bakery, checked her watch, and began to pace. A moment later, Atakan came from behind the building and joined her. Charlotte broke off part of a candy bar and gave it to him. She shifted position, blocking Ursula’s view as they huddled, heads bent over an object in his palm. After a brief discussion, he slid the item into the pocket of his shorts and they continued on their way. Neither looked in her direction.

When they rounded the bend in the road, Ursula left the store. She hated her role as contact and didn’t rush. Barsi Damla made her nervous. In their first meeting, he eyed her as though she were a piece of meat. It disturbed her and made her feel unclean. She told Stevan how she felt, but he insisted there was no other way to handle things.

Damla immediately noticed her at the café’s entrance. He said something to the man sitting with him, who nodded and moved to another table.

Like before, Damla scanned her as she approached. His eyes lingered too long on her breasts and between her legs for decency. She resisted a shudder as she sat opposite him.

“How old are you?” he asked.

“What difference does it make?”

“None, I’m merely curious.”

“Let’s stick to business.”

He finished his beer and relaxed back in the chair. “You’re a pretty woman with a few good years left. I have a shrewd eye for female flesh. You should be flattered by my interest.”

Female flesh--The verbiage bothered her as much as his leering. He scratched his beard with dirt packed fingernails. A repulsive visual of those filthy hands touching her skin flashed through her mind. She pushed it from her thoughts.

She ignored his comments. “Atakan has an impressive cell, high end.” Ursula pulled a notepad from her purse and read the specs. “Thuraya SG-2520, a Sat phone with GPS plus all the other usual features, camera, email, and GPRS-internet access. I checked online with a few companies. As good as the phone is it’s not immune to tapping into with a digital recording card. Getting your hands on the phone for the install is the problem. He carries it with him except when he’s on a dive or in the shower.”

Damla wrote the information on a paper napkin as she read it. “You have a schedule right?” he asked.

“Yes. The dives are only posted twenty-four hours in advance. You’d have to work fast. People are always in camp, either in the conservation lab or kitchen.”

“Does he always lock his phone up, do you know?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“Find out.”

There was no easy way for her to obtain the information. She’d have to sneak into the men’s quarters while Atakan was gone and no one else was around. What excuse could she use if she got caught?

“I can try.”

“How’d you learn the make and model?”

“I told him mine was recharging and asked to borrow his.”

“Can you use that excuse again and I’ll show you how to install the card?”

“I doubt he’ll let me wander away with his phone. Even if I could, I’m afraid if I screw it up and take too long, he might catch me. Besides my sister is on the project, he’ll wonder why I don’t borrow hers. I got lucky the first time. She was on the boat.”

Ursula meant to give Damla the information and split. In spite of her aversion to him, she was curious about the phone system.

“How’s this card thing of yours work?”

“It’s referred to as a DRC.” Damla sat forward and took his wallet out of his rear pants pocket. “Basically, I enter his number into a password protected switching station.” He used his cell phone to demonstrate without completing the process.

“All calls to and from Vadim’s phone go through the relay first and are recorded. The system captures the numbers of outgoing and incoming calls at the same time. No visible device is attached to the phone, which makes detection almost impossible. Even if he discovered the tampering, without my password, he cannot access the station to find what was recorded.”

“I assume Stevan has the password too.”

Damla held the empty beer bottle up along with one finger indicating he wanted another. “Stevan?”

“Stevan Kryianos, the man who hired you,” Ursula said, puzzled by his response.

Stevan was at the center of the plan, the connection between the buyer and the artifact. She assumed everything went through him. It hadn’t occurred to her someone acted as an additional go-between. Rethinking the situation, it made sense. Damla was too much of a peasant to get anywhere near Stevan.

“Who’s your contact?” she demanded, sharply. Her role was integral to the success of the operation. She was entitled to know who the other players were.

“You ask too many questions.”

She dismissed the warning in his voice. The common thug wouldn’t dare hurt her. She had the power to ruin everything.

“Since I’m your source inside the camp and to Stevan, the man who is paying you indirectly, I can ask anything I want.”

Damla’s hand shot across the table. She gasped and flinched when he squeezed her wrist in a painful grasp.

“And, I can take you places beyond the worst your imagination has conjured. You would learn how valuable you are. Careful how you speak to me.”

He jerked her half way across the table, grinned and rose from his seat just enough for his face to be next to hers. “I may take you still,” he said low in her ear, and then licked her cheek.

He let go and Ursula slumped in the chair. She wiped her cheek and then bowed her head to put her sunglasses on so he wouldn’t see her hands shake and how terrified of him she was. He scared her more than anyone she’d encountered before.

Chapter Forty

The need for the second Bounty Charlotte bought and saved for later arrived sooner than expected. She’d emailed Dr. Mortensen after she and Atakan returned from the café. In her mind, the committee wouldn’t respond for a day or two, while they debated the importance of the new discoveries. She stared at her email inbox and ripped the paper from the candy bar. She ate half before opening Mortensen’s immediate response.

Charlotte,

Thank you for the update. The committee appreciates the timely manner of your progress reports. Dr. Auerbach is the least happy with the finding of equine bones. However, he is not unhappy either. We all feel there might be some merit to your conjecture regarding the bones and Troy’s reputation as horse breeders. We want concrete evidence not speculation. Find it.

Dr. Mortensen

Chapter Forty-One

“Did you send the pictures?” Charlotte adjusted her tool belt. Stressed over Mortensen’s email, she’d forgotten to ask him last night at dinner.

“Yes. Ankara will run him through our enforcement sources. If any of those agencies dealt with him in the past, he’s on file,” Atakan said. “Although, I’ll be surprised if the search has positive results. The poor quality of the photos is a problem. You saw them.”

“You did the best you could. From that distance, the guy’s sitting in the shade, not to mention his head is a giant hairball obscuring his features. They’re okay.”

She and Atakan scrambled out of the way as Talat and four other divers hauled the underwater dredge onto the deck. Three of them struggled to maneuver the unwieldy hose. Talat kept careful control of the steel exhaust pipes and suction tube. If the heavy metal end caps banged against the dive platform any damage repairs would cost precious time.

Refik stored the water pump for the dredge in the equipment room, then came and stood next to Charlotte and Atakan.

“We cleared as much as of the area surrounding the grids where we found the bones as we dared. It’ll be interesting to see if we locate more buried in the sand,” Refik said.

“Think we’ll find human bones?” Charlotte asked.

“It’d be rare. Most of the wrecks we’ve worked went down close enough to shore for the crew to swim to land.”

“That’s a relief.” She said it light-heartedly, she meant it sincerely. “For a moment the specter of a skeleton floating in front of my face came to mind. It’s enough that eels and fish spring out of the dark to startle you.”

The crew lugged the dredge to the port side storage area. When they finished, the sweat drenched group spread out over the bow, resting in what shade was available.

Charlotte and Atakan hopped down to the platform and into the water. Each carried additional labels. Artifacts and ship remains at the original wreck site had been documented prior to excavation. The unexpected recovery of the bones far from the perimeter grid required additional mapping. There was no way to guess what the dredge uncovered.

Early in the morning, Refik relocated the Suraya and anchored over the bone yard. Divers placed the new guidelines and established the decompression stations. By mooring over the site, the scooters weren’t needed. It was a straight shot down to the grid to everyone’s disappointment.

Atakan lit the way. He and Charlotte swam to the farthest point where the bones appeared. Slowly, they canvassed the small zone. He held the lamp as she worked on her hands and knees without gloves, digging into the sand with her fingers.

Everything that felt promising to the touch she pulled out. She recovered a small pile of buried boat litter, a beer bottle, bent sunglasses, and a cheap watch. She tossed the junk aside. People had no respect for the environment. Charlotte gave up on scooping deeper when nothing of worth turned up. She resorted to hand-fanning again or using a brush.

If the ship transported royal treasure a representative of the royal house accompanied the shipment. No king sent valuable cargo to another port without an escort. Passengers on merchant ships during the period generally slept on deck. It was possible their personal possessions could’ve floated or been carried by the currents as far as the horses swam.

Frustrated by her fruitless effort, she threw her hands in the air and switched places with Atakan. He handed her the lamp and took her brush. Like Charlotte, he worked left to right on his hands and knees, fanning and sifting. Within minutes he found four scarabs the size of the tip of his thumb. He held one out to her. She examined the carved piece in the light.

It wasn’t made from gem material or another popular stone like obsidian or hematite. She rolled the scarab over her fingers trying to identify the dull yellow material. The shape was fairly uniform but didn’t have the quality finished edges of a jeweler’s tool. The edges had been fashioned into an oval but felt rough to the touch, as though crudely filed. The workmanship was common to pieces found in bazaars and markets frequented by ordinary citizens. The wealthy wouldn’t purchase a poor scarab such as this.

Atakan tagged the spot. Charlotte set the pieces inside the bag attached to her belt. They took turns holding the light while the other one put on fins and gloves before returning to the surface.

Onboard the Suraya, they stripped off their equipment and headed for the lab. Refik joined them to have his own look prior to the stones going into the desalination tank.

“Filed down animal teeth of some kind, from the feel and color,” he said, studying them under a strong magnifying glass. “We’ve recovered teeth on previous wrecks in the area.”

“Good luck talisman,” Atakan said.

“You think?” She thought they’d come loose from a bracelet or necklace setting.

“Yes, I believe so.”

“More than likely,” Refik said.

“Ancient sailors in this part of the world all used them,” Atakan explained.

“Still do.” Refik dropped the scarab into the tank. “Very superstitious people--sailors.”

“Refik,” Talat and Uma called simultaneously from outside.

Both crowded the doorway arguing about who had the greatest urgency to speak with Refik first. Refik passed between them without a word and turned toward the bow. Talat and Uma trailed after him talking over each other.

“Time to go. We’re due in the lab,” Charlotte reminded Atakan.

He grunted his agreement but didn’t move. Instead, he remained by the tank, his attention fixed on the scarabs.

“What are you doing?”

“This is where we differ. You weep for horse bones. For me, when I held these, I felt a connection to the men who kept such talisman close, a fleeting empathy. They may have survived.” Atakan turned to Charlotte. “But what of the ones who didn’t? Where did they call home? What happened to their families? What did they dream about when they laid on the deck at night?”

Like the rest of them, Atakan possessed an inexplicable fascination with the past, an archaeologist’s inexorable desire to define history’s people.

Debate about their fascination arose among the scientists between those who believed in reincarnation and those who explained the obsession on DNA. The reincarnation folks, of course, maintain the memory of past lives draws them to search out ancient clues. The DNA advocates allege a memory gene or genes passed on from our ancestor’s influences our preoccupation.

“I favor reincarnation.” Charlotte added her voice to the discussion. “Only reincarnation explains Deja-vu.” She didn’t go as far as some who revealed specific times and past life details they experienced. At various times, she felt a deep connection to places and suspected she had lived in those places before. She avoided consuming the amount of wine necessary to blurt her suspicions out.

Atakan listened to the discussion with an air of detachment, a thin smile on his face when she spoke about reincarnation. When asked, he refused to offer an opinion on either theory. To hear him express such emotional thoughts regarding the hopes and dreams of long dead sailors was so out of character Charlotte wasn’t sure how to respond. She never viewed him as particularly philosophical when it came to the personal lives of the ancients. He impressed her as someone who saw things as black or white with little shade of grey. The poignancy of his questions both touched and intrigued her.

He allowed her a peek to a side of him she doubted he showed too many. For him to open up this way was a special moment and she chose her words with care. “I suppose their dreams were similar to ours.”

“I don’t speak of literal dreams.”

“I know.” Charlotte understood. “Life dreams, you mean. I’d say they were much the same as today in many respects. The common sailor probably dreamed of owning his own ship someday. Perhaps he hoped his sons might be lucky enough to apprentice with a tradesman. I imagine he felt if they learned a craft they’d never have to go to sea and lead the hard life of a sailor. I’m sure he dreamed his daughters would marry well.”

She used the moment to learn more about Atakan’s background. “What about you? What did your father want for you?”

“My father was in the military. He was deployed to distant bases for long stretches of time. From when I was a small boy, he insisted I attend university. I was to learn a profession that wouldn’t keep me away from my family for months and months.”

Charlotte refrained from commenting on the irony of Atakan’s choice of professions. His work for the Ministry kept him away on archaeological sites for months on end.

“And yes,” Atakan said, “he was happy to see my sister married to a good man.”

“Our dreams aren’t changed by time.”

He lingered by the tank for a few long seconds. She’d love to ask him what his dreams were but didn’t think he’d tell her. She had the feeling he revealed as much as he was willing to and she was smart enough not to push him for more.

Chapter Forty-Two

Athens

The phone rang on Stevan’s desk. He answered on the second ring.

“Stevan...” It was Waterman.

“Aaron, how are you?”

“Never mind how I am. What the hell is going on?”

“Pardon?”

“You ordered the hit on that Turk, Ekrem Zeren. I’m not a moron. It took me awhile to figure out you were behind the murder. You lied when I asked you point blank. Why?”

“You didn’t need to know. It was a personal vendetta, like yours with the Dashiell woman.”

“I don’t appreciate being bull-shitted. Now Heather, Zeren’s girlfriend, is missing. Charlotte’s family is upset. They’re worried about her safety. Frank said Elizabeth has asked her ex-husband and son to use any influence they have to find out more from the Istanbul police.”

Stevan swiveled his chair around and poured a snifter of cognac from the decanter on an antique chiffonier.

“Do they have a contact with the Istanbul authorities?” He passed the snifter back and forth a few inches under his nose, enjoying the spicy bouquet.

“Of course not. How the fuck would they?”

“Sounds like a personal problem.”

“I don’t want problems with our plan, personal or otherwise. Give me a goddamn straight answer. Are you involved?”

Stevan stroked the picture of his daughter, Aphrodite, he kept on his desk. “This is news to me,” he said and sipped his cognac.

“Is there a chance your associate, the one you hired to kill Zeren is responsible?”

“I didn’t hire him to take her. Why would I be interested in the woman?”

“Look, none of this is part of our deal. We agreed to have Charlotte disappear and take the fall for the theft. Your contract murder nearly killed her in the process. I’ll let that stupidity go. The girlfriend is a different story. It means more cops poking around. The whole operation is taking an ugly turn. I don’t want anything to happen to Charlotte before the job is finished.”

“Calm down. Everything is going as planned. Zeren’s woman is not our concern,” Stevan said.

“I don’t like it. I’m warning you, anymore surprises and I’m out. The deal is off.” Aaron slammed the phone down hard.

Stevan set the snifter on the desk and removed the mother-of-pearl inlay box from his bottom drawer. He gave Aphrodite the Victorian jewel case for her sixteenth birthday. She kept her personal treasures in it, including her diary.

He lifted the lid and took out the photos of her and Ekrem. How happy she looked. How she loved him. I love him too much to live without him, she wrote in the last entry of her diary.

The hatred welled up again in Stevan. He remembered how he humbled himself in his humiliating phone call to Mustafa Zeren, Ekrem’s father, pleading with him on Aphrodite’s behalf. Stevan heard the conversation in his head as fresh as the day it occurred. Staring at her picture, he replayed Mustafa’s cold response.

“Ekrem cannot marry her. How would it look, the son of a Minister of Parliament marrying the bastard daughter of you and your whore?”

Ekrem’s termination of the relationship broke his Aphrodite’s heart. Stevan’s beautiful girl hung herself. Her suicide destroyed her mother’s spirit. She refused to speak to, or see, Stevan after the funeral.

“I waited for this, Mustafa. Five long years I suffered through the pain of birthdays my daughter wouldn’t celebrate, struggled with my anguish as the date of her death came around. Now I’ve destroyed what you loved most, your oldest son.”

He placed the photo in the box, closed the lid and put it back in the drawer. From his center drawer, he pulled out another picture of Ekrem. This one showed him with Heather. They sat at an outdoor café on the Koc University grounds. A private investigator Stevan hired took the picture. Mustafa approved of this woman, this foreign professor.

Stevan laid the photo on his desk. Pleased, he made a call.

“Maksym, it’s me, Kryianos.”

“I wondered when you’d call.”

“I wanted to give you time with Ekrem’s woman. Has she told you anything useful on Atakan Vadim?”

“No. If Ekrem shared information with her, she’d have told us days ago.”

“Is she still alive?”

“Yes...for now.”

Chapter Forty-Three

Sevastopol

Maksym eyed the naked woman with disinterest. As women go, Heather Hilliard wasn’t the type he preferred. She was too bony, too frail, and too annoying. He’d raped numerous women. Eventually they stopped fighting and crying and let him finish swiftly. Not Ekrem’s woman. She whimpered the entire time. The stupid fool wouldn’t stop, even after he’d struck her several times.

“Cut her down,” he told the two men who’d questioned her.

The taller man sliced through the rope with one cut and Heather crumpled to the cement floor. She rose onto her knees but kept her head hung. Her blonde hair fell over her face covering the bruises on her chin and cheeks.

“Water...please,” she begged, rubbing her red and raw wrists. “Please,” she appealed to Maksym, clasping small hands around his boot.

Maksym smiled and squatted next to her. “Thirsty? Then, you shall drink,” he said. Cupping her chin in his palm, he tipped her face so she could look in his eyes.

“Give her some water,” he ordered the second man.

The man lifted her off the floor by the hair. She staggered as her legs went out from under her.

“Drag her,” Maksym told them as he stood, watching.

Each man grabbed her by the arms and half-dragged, half-pulled her along as she stumbled outside to Maksym’s pool. They took turns holding her as they stripped their clothes off. When they were naked too, they shoved her into the pool, jumping in after her. One restrained her. The other pushed her head under the water and held it there as she flailed, fighting to raise her head for a gulp of air. At Maksym’s nod, they let her up to breathe then repeated the process several more times.

“Enough,” Maksym said. “Pull her out.” He waited until she stopped coughing and gasping for air. Again, he squatted next to her on the pool deck. “This is how I will kill you, but not here, not in the warmth of my pool. I will take you to the sea. The water is dark and bitter cold. It is a miserable death but after my men are done...” He laughed softly. “You may welcome it.”

Maksym stood. “She is yours. When you’re finished give her to the others.”

Chapter Forty-Four

Bozburun

Charlotte broke from the crust removal work on the copper pot and shut off the small compressor for her air drill. In the mood for a music change, a taste of Enrique Iglesias sounded good, something hot and upbeat like Bailamos or Rhythm Divine. She pushed her goggles up to the top of her head, tugged the protective face mask down, and took her earphones out.

Next to her, Atakan continued working on an oil lamp, listening to his iPod. He stopped when Charlotte plucked the bud from his right ear.

“I’m tired of listening to the same songs over and over. Want to switch iPods?”

“Sure.”

They exchanged with each other and went back to work. After an hour, she stopped and pulled both hers and Atakan’s earphones down so they hung around their necks.

Atakan turned his air drill off. “You want to switch back?”

“No,” she said. “I’m curious.”

He waited for her to explain.

She grinned slow and wicked. “Do you have this music on a CD at home somewhere?”

“Yes,” Atakan said, his eyes narrowing. “Why?”

“You ever put the deserty stuff on when you have a woman over and play sultan and harem girl?”

His mouth dropped open and he appeared speechless.

This is a first.

“That’s a most indecent thing for a woman to ask a man,” he said, at last. “Is your brother not disturbed by your boldness?”

“You don’t know Nick,” she said, laughing at the suggestion. “So, what’s the answer?”

“I will not dignify such an impertinent question with a response.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” She’d bet there was a fiery blush beneath his tan.

He handed back her iPod. “If I ever see your brother again, I shall speak to him about this,” he said sternly as he replaced his artifact in the secured storage cabinet. “I’m going to the showers.” Shooting her an indignant look, he grabbed his phone from the table and headed for the door.

“See you later, Sultan.”

#

Ursula hid by the side of the dormitory. She’d kept track of Atakan’s movements for the past week. A creature of habit, he showered and shaved about this time every day, unless on the boat. She noticed he locked up his phone when he went to the Suraya for a diving assignment. But when he showered, he put it in an unlocked carry-on bag he stored under his cot.

Damla stayed close to the camp after she told him of Atakan’s routine.

Land duties were posted a day in advance. Whenever Charlotte and Atakan were assigned to the lab, Ursula volunteered for the pottery tables. Sorting and labeling the broken pieces was the dullest, least popular detail. No one ever asked for the job, so when Ursula did, Refik agreed, no questions asked. The area where the pottery fragments were identified and bundled was outside under a canvas canopy with open sides. It gave her an unobstructed view of the lab.

When Atakan left, she guessed he was on his way to the showers and called Damla.

He was quick to join her outside the men’s dorm. “Cough loud, if you hear the shower turn off,” Damla said.

While he rerouted Atakan’s phone, her hands trembled, certain they’d be discovered. She finally shoved them into the pockets of her shorts and kept her eyes fixed on the shower. If Atakan, hard-nosed as he was, came out and found them, he’d interrogate her. He’d be severe and unsympathetic, but he’d do everything by the book and follow the Ministry’s rules. He wouldn’t cause her physical pain.

Not so Damla. If caught, he’d resist Atakan and anyone else and somehow manage to get away. His type always escaped. She envisioned him blaming her for not warning him like he told her. The crazy scenario of the big Armenian hunting her down and punishing her filled her thoughts. She lived in a non-violent world surrounded by historians and scientists. The day he crushed her wrist at the café, he’d hurt her and didn’t care. She wasn’t sure what he meant by the threat about her having value in horrible places. It didn’t matter. He wanted to frighten her and it worked. After today, she’d tell Stevan again how she felt about the brute.

Damla finished fast and Ursula directed him to the edge of camp. They moved along the hillside behind the kitchen which blocked them from view. Behind her, she heard the door to the showers creak open and close.

“This spyware captures his calls. So what? Half of those are likely government numbers you could get without all this sneaking around,” Ursula said.

“You don’t know a fraction of what the system does,” he said. “Number captures are not the only function. The device records all communication, including text messages and any pictures he takes. He has no secrets.”

Ursula wasn’t listening. She was busy dancing out of a determined yellow jacket’s range, wildly swatting at it.

A puff of air touched her cheek. Damla made an open-palmed grab towards her, his clenched fist inches from her face. She screamed, and he quickly pressed a finger to her lips, stifling the sound.

Heat waves radiated from the dry ground penetrating through the thin rubber soles of her flip-flops. She froze, ignoring the uncomfortable warmth on her feet, afraid his hand would travel downward. The top of her bathing suit had slipped with her frantic gyrations and nearly exposed her breasts.

He moved his finger and leaned a fraction closer, close enough for her to smell the cigarettes on his breath.

“Such wide eyes, so blue,” he said, laughing. The husky barrel sound filled the quiet corner of camp. He opened his hand and flicked the dead yellow jacket from his palm.

“I favor blue eyes.” He stepped back and turned toward an old herd path that bordered camp.

Ursula shivered and rubbed the goose bumps from her arms as she watched him leave. When he looked back once and blew her a kiss, she spun and ran with no destination in mind, other than out of his sight.

Chapter Forty-Five

Atakan vigorously toweled his wet hair as he walked to the men’s quarters. The choked, feminine scream stopped him. He paused and listened, unsure if he heard right. A deep male laugh reverberated off the rocky hills. Like fingerprints, everyone on the project had a unique laugh. He’d recognize each person’s without seeing their face.

This was a stranger’s.

Slinging the towel over his shoulder, he smoothed his hair back and headed in the direction of the sounds. He crossed the short distance between the showers and the rear of the camp. The couple wasn’t far ahead. Atakan positioned himself in the shade of the kitchen to observe them. If they turned, the pale colors of the towels around his waist and on his shoulder would blend with the building’s light wood.

The interaction between Ursula and Damla didn’t make sense to him. She acted afraid of the man. So what were they doing together?

Atakan remained until Damla left and Ursula raced back toward the center of camp. What had they done?

He checked the kitchen first to see if Damla delivered any fresh supplies and found nothing new. Walking fast, he headed to Refik’s living quarters and office. Refik was on the Suraya and had been all day. It was doubtful he’d leave his quarters open, but Atakan shook the knob on the office door as a precaution. It was locked. Damla couldn’t have left supplies there.

Atakan returned to the lab where Charlotte passed a drill with a light touch over the dented handle on a metal pot.

She stopped her work and glanced at him.

“Did Basri come in here?”

She tugged the iPod earphones out. “What?”

“Did Basri come in here?” he repeated.

“Basri?”

“Damla.”

Charlotte shut the drill off. “No, why?” She two-fingered her mask down and pushed her goggles onto her head.

“Did you see him walking in camp while I showered?”

“No. You only left fifteen minutes ago,” she said, checking her watch. Then, she looked him up and down, stopping at the towel that rode low on his hip bones. “What’s going on? You’re running around naked except for a towel, which is slipping by the way, in a tizzy about Damla.”

“Nothing specific, I saw him leaving by the back way. Why not the front, unless he was up to something?”

“I eliminated every building but our living quarters,” he said, retying the loosened knot on his towel. “This man is worrisome. I need to find what he was doing.” Atakan left the lab considering what he should do next.

“Wait for me,” Charlotte called out.

Outside Atakan paced, thinking, while she finished. He suspected Damla was here to meet Ursula.

“Come with me,” he told Charlotte when she met him.

Atakan stepped inside the men’s area and verified no one else was there before Charlotte followed. “Do me a favor,” he said after another quick search of the room and finding no delivery made.

“Okay.” She sat on the foot of his cot with her back to him while he dressed.

“Check your dorm. Make sure nothing was left by Damla—”

“All right.” She stood to leave.

“Don’t go yet. I need you to do one more thing. Find out what kind of phone Ursula uses.”

“Why?”

There was unwelcome obstinance in Charlotte’s tone. He didn’t need attitude from her.

“What is going on with you?” she demanded, her back still turned.

“I can’t explain. Just trust me,” he said, zipping his jeans. “You can turn around now.” He pulled a light blue cotton shirt from the small dresser he shared with Gerard. Putting it on, he buttoned it and flattened the front with his hands.

“Wow, don’t you look nice.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I’m meeting a friend later.”

“Will you be bringing him to the café tonight?”

“Charlotte, please hurry and get the phone info. I don’t know when Ursula is coming back.”

“On my way.”

When Charlotte left, Atakan brought out his carry-on case and unlocked the metal box he stored there. Moving aside the external hard-drive to his laptop with secured information, he took out his wallet and expensive watch his parents gave him. He relocked the box but not the case and stuck the bag under the cot again.

Charlotte accused him of being paranoid when she saw the metal box. He was careful with the few things he kept inside. He wasn’t as diligent with the phone. No need. If it was stolen, he’d requisition a replacement. The loss would be a minor irritant, the stored data relatively routine as per the Ministry’s strict guidelines. Classified information like suspicious activity or imminent arrests was forbidden from going out over their cells. He adhered to the policy. Violation provoked the wrath of Firat. The Director’s anger resulted in “debriefings,” his code word for endless, boring lectures. The worst part of losing his phone was the inconvenience of paperwork.

After a few minutes, Charlotte returned.

“Nothing was delivered,” she said, sounding excited. “Ursula walked in on me while I was hunting around for her cell. She had the phone with her and was talking to someone, Stevan I think. She cut the conversation off when she saw me. Nice,” Charlotte said, admiring Atakan’s Rado watch.

“Thank you. Did you hear any part of her conversation?”

“I don’t know what your interest in Ursula’s phone is since you’ve chosen not to impart any information. Something is definitely wrong with her though. I’m telling you this in case it has some bearing on your mysterious request.”

Curiosity was killing Charlotte, he knew. The comment was a fishing expedition on her part. From her disappointed expression, his secrecy hurt her feelings. He wished he could share his suspicions with her. For now, that was impossible until he learned more.

“Go on,” he said.

Looking more disappointed, she nodded and said, “She was crying and appeared distraught about something.”

Atakan hooked his cell phone to a loop on his jeans and sat on the bed. He pulled a pair of shoes out from under the dresser and slipped them over his bare feet, running a finger around the back.

Charlotte’s gaze dropped to his shoes and up again. “Loafers and not sandals? Must be an important friend.” she commented, wandering off topic.

Atakan let the remark hang. “Regarding Ursula, did she say why she was upset?”

“No. But after she hung up, she sat on the edge of the bed with this haunted stare. Very strange, if you ask me.”

The choked off scream, Damla’s laughter, whatever transpired between he and Ursula triggered the emotional reaction. What in the exchange was the cause?

“Did you get a look at her phone?”

“Yes. She tossed it on the bed when she hung up. It’s a standard Vodafone.”

“Can you get your hands on it?”

“I suppose. She leaves it behind when she’s on a dive.”

“Good. Get it to me, the sooner the better,” Atakan said.

“You’re not going to give me a clue as to why?”

“No.” He stood and urged Charlotte to the door.

She resisted his light hand on her back. “What will you do if I say I won’t help unless I get at least a hint?”

“I’ll remind you of our talk and how you asked me to believe in your innocence. You want me to trust you, yet when I ask you to reciprocate that trust you fight me.”

“I should’ve known you’d play the trust card.”

“What’s it to be? Choose. We either have trust between us or we don’t.”

“I trust you. That’s not in doubt. But, I have a right to know if I’m being used as a pawn in a totally unrelated issue...some gopher in a matter that has nothing to do with my problem. I don’t see how Damla and Ursula are involved in Ekrem’s murder investigation. It’s obvious you suspect them of something. Why won’t you tell me what it is?”

“Because I don’t know, right now, I only have instinct.”

“Not a very satisfactory response.” She tilted her head and tipped her chin up the way women do when they’re trying to provoke a reaction. “I find it interesting you weren’t surprised when I put the two of them together. I was fishing.”

Charlotte was clever. Her pairing the two didn’t surprise Atakan. He appreciated her intellect, but at the moment he’d trade clever for quiet compliance.

“Yes, I know. Subtlety isn’t your forte.”

He understood her displeasure too. Underwater they relied on each other completely. Their mutual respect and confidence was well established. She wanted the same on land.

“Ursula’s disrespect to you is inexcusable. I dislike her for it. However, she’s never done anything bad to me, personally. I’m not real comfortable being party to your invasion of her privacy.”

Atakan let her talk. She was working out her decision while verbalizing her concerns. He wouldn’t interfere with her choice, but he hoped that her loyalty was stronger to him than Ursula.

Charlotte turned away from him and walked to the door. “I’ll get the phone to you at the first opportunity.”

Chapter Forty-Six

Atakan stayed behind awaiting his friend while the team went to dinner at the village café.

“Another round of beers please,” Talat told the bakery woman’s husband.

Charlotte stuck with local wine although no one was willing to split a bottle with her. She figured she’d drink two glasses max and take the rest of the bottle back to camp.

She had her back to the café’s entrance, talking to Talat and Gerard when both men’s attention turned toward a point behind her. Refik, who was sitting across the table also looked. Charlotte swiveled in her chair to see what had them staring.

Atakan walked in with an arm around his friend, a striking brunette. The woman was the color of café au lait. Her skin glowed as though she moisturized with a thin layer of lanolin. Mink brown, her hair was several shades lighter than Charlotte’s coal black hair. It hung in soft curls to her shoulders, so feminine compared to Charlotte’s simple ponytail. She wore a white silk sun dress that clung to an hourglass figure with a waistline Nick could fit his two hands around. She had white ankle strap high-heeled sandals. Little nothings of shoes with a couple of strips of leather strategically placed that managed to be sexy as hell. Charlotte owned a pair of ankle strap sandals once. She gave them away. They hurt her feet.

Atakan dragged two chairs over from another table and set them next to Charlotte. “This is Ermine,” he said and introduced everyone to her. “This is Charlotte, my dive partner.” He gestured as Ermine sat in the chair closest to Charlotte.

Ermine held out her French manicured hand. “It is nice to meet you.”

Charlotte shook it, keenly aware of her own short, practical nails and the fact she hadn’t had a manicure since leaving the States.

“Atakan speaks well of you. He says you are a clever archaeologist, most competent,” Ermine said.

“That’s kind of him.”

“He also says you have strange but unique theories.”

“Does he now?” Charlotte shot a glance at Atakan who looked uncharacteristically sheepish. “Your English is very good.”

“Thank you. I am still learning. It is more difficult for me than the other languages I speak.”

“What others do you speak?” Charlotte shifted to the right and squinted a bit, trying to see if Ermine’s thick eyelashes were real.

“I am fluent in Spanish, German, Greek, and correctable in Russian.”

“Impressive.”

“What about you? I imagine since you work with scientists from many countries, you know several languages also.”

“Not really,” Charlotte admitted, annoyed by the innocent question. “I’m fluent in French and correctable in Turkish. Would you like a glass of wine?”

“I thank you for the offer but I do not drink...” She turned to Atakan and whispered something. Atakan whispered something in return that Charlotte didn’t catch.

“I do not drink alcohol,” Ermine said, turning back.

Atakan ordered a glass of tea for Ermine and a beer for himself.

“This is exciting for me. Atakan’s reports on the project and your team are very positive,” Ermine said to Refik.

“Ermine--” Atakan said in a low voice.

Conversations had resumed after the introductions, but stopped again with her remark. The group’s attention returned to Ermine.

Rachel and Uma flanked Talat, each with a hand on one of his bare thighs. “You read the reports?” Talat asked.

“Often yes. I work in the Ministry Office with Atakan in Istanbul.”

“Ermine, this is a social visit.” Atakan laid his palm on her hand and gave it a slight squeeze.

Charlotte understood Atakan’s intent with the gesture. It was a subtle signal for her to shut up or change the subject.

“All of his reports?” Refik asked, sounding concerned.

“Not all of course, not the confidential communiqués. Those go unopened to the Director,” Ermine said, apparently oblivious to the warning squeeze.

Refik’s eyes were on Atakan, who tipped his head once confirming what she said was true. “Just wondering,” Refik said and started talking to Gerard about an upcoming football match between their countries.

“Ermine, everyone is here to relax.” Atakan nudged her glass of tea closer. “They don’t want to hear about my job.”

Charlotte noticed the steel in his tone even if Ermine didn’t.

Ermine ignored the tea but changed the subject. “Well, I’m also excited to visit this area. I never came to the peninsula before. We’re going to Bozburun tonight. Atakan tells me there’s a lovely old hotel in the village. Picture...picture…”

“Picturesque,” Charlotte filled in for her.

“Yes.”

“It is.”

“He said he took you there for drinks and you liked it,” Ermine said, finally taking a sip of her tea.

From the way she phrased the comment, it sounded as though Atakan hadn’t mentioned Nick and Jeff came along or that Ursula and Uma joined them. It danced across Charlotte’s mind to clarify she and Atakan hadn’t gone as a couple. Why should she? Ermine was his business not hers.

“I did.”

“Is it true all the rooms have a sea view?” Ermine asked.

Charlotte recognized a fishing question when she heard one and gave her an ambiguous answer, not the least ashamed of the pettiness behind it. “All the rooms...hmm, I wouldn’t know about all the rooms for sure.”

Next to Ermine, Atakan was taking cash out of his wallet. “Speaking of Bozburun, we should go.”

“I’m not finished with my tea.”

“They have tea in Bozburun,” he said and left the money on the table.

Charlotte excused herself to go to the ladies room as Atakan and Ermine said their goodbyes. She walked through the bakery and waited on the road for Atakan. When he and Ermine stepped into the street, Charlotte called to him.

He told a tense looking Ermine to stay where she was and joined Charlotte.

Charlotte kept the information about Ursula’s phone cryptic in case Ermine overheard. “Schedule’s posted. The person we discussed dives early in the morning and again mid-afternoon. I’ll acquire the merchandise you wanted then, provided you’re back by morning.”

“I’ll be back early, but the equipment I ordered from Ankara won’t arrive until noon. Hold off until the second dive.”

Chapter Forty-Seven

“What’s the hold up?” Charlotte continued pacing.

Atakan leaned against the bulkhead with his arms folded. “You’re wound very tight this morning.”

“Wound up, it’s wound up. Wound tight is similar but different in meaning.”

“Pick the one that means cranky,” he said, yawning.

“I’m not cranky. I’m anxious.”

He suffocated another yawn.

“Busy night?”

“Long night.”

She cocked a brow and then turned her face and mumbled, “I’ll bet.”

“Pardon? What did you say?” he asked, grinning.

“Nothing.
“You said something.”

“No, I didn’t. Where’s Refik?” She banged her fins harder against her leg.

“Settle down. He’s coming now.”

“Stop that,” Refik said approaching them and pointed to her fin banging. “Your impatience is duly noted.”

She stopped and slipped her fins on as he spoke.

“No matter what you see, don’t touch anything,” Refik ordered. “Pictures only, for now. I told you, I’d let you be the first in to view the stern hold’s interior.”

Refik held a team meeting days earlier. The meter high pithoi were stacked in three rows with a layer of dunnage between each. The rows ran the width of that portion of the hull where the stern began to narrow and dovetail into the keel. The majority of the group felt keeping the height and depth of the rows as much intact as possible was the safest procedure. They chose to pare them from one side, removing only enough to allow divers to explore further into the recessed area of the hold. The side where the collapsed decking lay on top of the amphoras they left in place. The excess weight shattered several of the large containers in the upper row. The rest survived upright or had minor damage.

“Talat and I inspected the exterior early this morning. We saw no change, but we can’t be certain if the weight shift from the amphoras we removed had a negative effect,” Refik reminded them.

“Understood.” Charlotte and Atakan double-checked the equipment and jumped down to the dive step.

Refik and Talat noted that beyond the remaining container rows a portion of the deck fell inward although not completely through. Something prevented the total collapse. Charlotte and Atakan would investigate the source.

They kicked their way down and approached carefully. Since she had the light, Charlotte went in first. Atakan followed close with the camera. Zero light from the surface reached this recessed section. A curtain of absolute black closed around them. On previous photographic assignments, the white of the lamp diffused outward into a fuzzy haze. Here, the darkness allowed Charlotte’s lamp a single bright spot of unusual clarity. She experienced an initial sense of isolation, as though this space existed apart from the rest of the wreck.

As a precaution, Charlotte lit the bottom to insure no pieces of the hull’s planking protruded at a dangerous angle to entangle or injure them. The area was clear and they swam further inside. They used a system similar to pictures taken with time-lapse photography. She’d move the lamp in increments of five meters as he snapped photos.

Atakan pointed up. He wanted shots of the rotted deck wood and the position. The view would help the team assess the best way to safely remove what remained.

She swam backward tracking right to left, keeping her attention on the overhead section. They still had to locate the source preventing complete collapse. She’d have preferred getting that out of the way first. Caution dictated a more methodical system. Progress was painfully slow and required patience she didn’t have a lot of.

Her elbow struck something hard. She spun, shining the light on the object. A woman with a stark white face and ebony eyes stared back at her. Charlotte swallowed a startled scream. Jerking away from the ghost, she banged into Atakan, almost dropping the lamp.

The ghost was one of four life size marble statues and unique from the other three starting with her black stone eyes. Her face, arms and feet were white marble, like the rest, but the gown covering her body from throat to ankle was black marble. Charlotte hadn’t seen a female statue from that period carved in black and white. The sculptor denied the woman a classical coif. Instead, her hair winged out in a wild, unruly fashion. The spectral figure exuded menace with the exception of the apple she held in her outstretched palm. Charlotte examined the apple under her strong light. The fruit was perfect, artfully crafted with delicate veined leaves and curved stem.

Charlotte wondered who she represented.

The three white marble statues stood together but apart from the apple bearer. She recognized the first of the other three as the warrior goddess Athena. Armed with a shield at her side and wearing a breastplate, her hair was worn in a battle practical thick braid down her back.

The wife of Zeus, the powerful goddess Hera, stood next to Athena. Her elegant gown draped over the length of her body with the hem flowing outward like waves. The upper portion of her dress swathed her shoulders in a continuous wrap that became her headdress covering a coronet.

The third female stood on the opposite side of Athena. She was the beautiful goddess Aphrodite. Easily recognized by the exposed legs, the marble folds of her gown covered the tops of perfectly proportioned thighs. Her hair fell in gentle curls to her waist.

Broken and unbroken rotted planks lay at various angles on top and at the feet of the goddesses. From the lack of damage to the sculptures and their upright positions, Charlotte surmised the ship went down under the power of a single, great wave. The hull sustained considerable battering, smashing against the seabed, breaking apart and scattering much of the cargo.

Protected by heavy decking and set back from the open section of the hold, the goddesses survived the worst of the storm’s fury. When the remaining deck collapsed under the rocks, most of those planks caved in toward mid-ship and not over the statues. Those that did shatter on top of the recessed area had their weight spread over the Rhodian amphoras and the goddess figures, minimizing the damage.

Charlotte studied the group. Why these three rival goddesses, and who was the one in black and white? She wished she could discuss the matter with Atakan before they surfaced. She’d love his opinion. The obvious clue to the scene was the fourth unknown woman.

Charlotte did a quick recap of the goddesses of the time and region. Which one was a mythological outsider? Why was she offering an apple to the others? What did the apple represent? Then, it hit her. She wanted to shout. The implication of her conclusion was the strongest evidence yet of the validity of her theory.

The unknown woman was Eris, Goddess of Strife. The Apple of Discord wasn’t for the other goddesses, it was for Paris. The scene was the sculpted interpretation of the “Judgment of Paris.” The selfish and foolish decision of his judgment had led him to the most beautiful woman in the world, Helen, Queen of Sparta, and the wife of Menelaus. It was their fated meeting which resulted in the great tragedy that was the Trojan War. That is, if Homer is to be believed.

Charlotte mimed to Atakan she knew the answer. She touched her finger to her eye and then tapped her finger to the tip to her nose and pointed to the statue. Atakan shrugged and shook his head, apparently unable to decipher the shorthand.

They stepped between the boards and Atakan took pictures from different frontal and side views of the statues. They tried to maneuver around to the rear, but fallen decking prevented them from getting in behind the three main figures. Like palace guards, the goddesses protected the last unexplored section. Was it intentional? Charlotte let her imagination run wild with speculation. She checked her watch and held up two fingers for Atakan. They had to finish and surface.

Chapter Forty-Eight

“Do you agree the goddesses represent the Judgment of Paris?” Charlotte stripped off her wetsuit, laid it on the narrow portside bench and grabbed a fresh towel from the stack.

Atakan took her wetsuit and his and hung them up along with their fins. “Yes. Everything, the famed goddesses with the added element of Eris and the apple point to that conclusion.” He grabbed a fresh towel and rubbed himself down.

“You know what I’m going to ask next.”

He nodded. “I never thought I’d say this but--” He gave her a long look, sighed, tossed his towel into the laundry basket and said, “Your theory might--might be right.”

“It tortured you to say that, I know.” For a fleeting moment, Charlotte considered doing a mini-happy dance for this hard won victory.

Atakan’s eyes narrowed as though he read her mind.

“However, there is a flaw.”

Charlotte threw her hands in the air. “I knew it. You couldn’t just say I might be right and leave it be.”

“I’m aware I’m a big bee kill.”

“Buzz kill, the phrase is buzz kill and you’ll get no argument from me.” Resigned to hearing this flaw she said, “Lay the flaw on me.”

“The Judgment of Paris is from the Iliad. The Iliad which was arguably written in the eighth or seventh century B.C.E. Call me pedantic, but I see a problem with the five century timeline gap between the war and the time frame this wreck is likely from, and the poem.”

She wanted to strangle him for being right. “There are a number of things I’d like to call you right now. Pedantic is way down the list.”

“While we’re on the subject, admit it, when you first saw the statue you thought Eris statue was a ghost,” Atakan teased.

“Did not.”

“Liar, you practically rocketed out of your wetsuit. Speaking for myself, I wouldn’t view that as a bad thing.”

The flattery of the last statement was so unexpected, Charlotte blinked several times, in surprise. She waited for the other shoe to drop, some smart ass comment from a man who found the idea of a sexy DVD of her laughable.

When it didn’t come, she asked hesitantly, “That sounded like a compliment.”

“It was.”

“Seriously? You weren’t joking?” she asked, still suspicious.

He looked puzzled. “No.”

“Wow. Thank you.” Take the compliment. Don’t say another word. “Did you have a good time in Bozburun last night?”

The question just popped out. She was morbidly curious. But, she never intended to ask. Rip your tongue out, right now.

“Yes.”

“Has Ermine been your girlfriend for a long time?” For God’s sake, shut up. She raised her eyes to the heavens. Strike me dumb, please.

“You mean have we been lovers a long time?”

“I...I...don’t know what I mean. Ignore me. I’m just making idle conversation.”

“The answer is no. Ermine’s sights are set on a higher goal than a simple field representative. We are, as you say, ‘ships passing.’”

“Does Ermine know that?” Charlotte said under her breath, matching the corners of her towel with precision. She concentrated on folding the damp towel into a perfect square. No one, including herself, had ever shown such interest in a towel destined for the hamper.

“Charlotte, are you jealous, by any chance?”

She tossed the cotton square into the laundry and risked looking over at Atakan. Bad move. He made a poor attempt to hid his amusement behind a straight face but wasn’t able to completely smother the smirk or the laughter in his eyes.

“Certainly not. We’re...colleagues...and friends. I’m merely making a...friendly inquiry.”

He lifted a brow.

“I am not jealous.”

“I’ve been weeks here in camp. Weeks.”

“Meaning?”

“I needed a break. I took a break.”

She waved her hand to get him to stop. “Enough said. I get the drift.”

“Come on, friend,” he said, taking her by the elbow. “Let’s get a cold drink.”

#

They shared a can of Pepsi on the Suraya’s bow as they waited for the shuttle boat. News of the statues had the next dive team, Talat and Uma, fired up to see if they could “discover” something equally cool. Atakan bet them twenty Euros they wouldn’t. They took the challenge and Uma upped the bet to forty which Charlotte and Atakan matched. Unless Talat and Uma found a way behind the statues, which they couldn’t at this point, they weren’t going to come up with a better find.

“What if they stumble onto the gold thingy we saw weeks ago?” Charlotte asked. “Before we entered the hold, I looked for it in the same vicinity. I didn’t see the glint of any metal.”

“I looked too.”

“Are we wrong about the location?”

Atakan thought for a moment. “No, it’s just buried in the sand.”

“We haven’t found any large gold relics yet. If that piece is evidence more exists, logically the rest is inside the blocked section.”

“You’re leaping to a false conclusion. A single item of gold is not indicative of more. A solitary piece might’ve belonged to a rich passenger,” he said.

“What about the ornamental daggers and sword? What solo passenger carries such a large number of decorative weapons?”

“The point is moot. The relic has dozens of possibilities. Whether it and the other pieces belong to citizens or envoys still doesn’t prove the existence of more gold.”

“Hypothetically, let’s say there’s something about the piece that suggests greater treasure,” she continued. “Will you hear me out and give me an objective answer?”

He nodded, looking reluctant to go along.

“Refik’s removed much of the collapsed deck over the amphoras without bringing experts. Think we can convince him to remove the rest? Be objective.”

“By the rest, you mean the section over the statues.”

“Yes, but the statues too so we can access all the hold.”

“I doubt it,” Atakan said. “Given the instability of the stern, you need to find something of similar weight as the statues combined to serve as a counter balance. I don’t know where we’d find what we need. If you could locate other heavy material, we’d have to swap the material for the statues.”

Atakan paused, as he mentally worked out the logistics. It didn’t take him long to assess the situation. He shook his head and said, “You can’t accomplish the exchange within a safe time frame. However long it took, during the operation everyone involved would be at risk.”

Charlotte calculated the danger versus the importance of what might lay within, unhappy with Atakan’s explanation.

His phone rang. She rose to leave and give him privacy.

He hooked a hand under her upper arm and stopped her as he listened.

“Give me the details,” he said.

He stared at Charlotte, serious concern in his eyes. She’d seen the look one other time, when they first talked together in Santorini. After the news of Ekrem’s death, she was at a loss to think what else would affect him in the same way.

“I will tell her,” he said and disconnected.

“What happened?”

“They found Heather. Dead.”

“Oh, my god.”

Chapter Forty-Nine

“Not so loud,” Atakan said.

Her voice carried. From his position on the dive platform, Talat caught Atakan’s eye and raised his hands out, palms up and mouthed “need me.”

Atakan shook his head and urged Charlotte into the waiting shuttle boat.

“How?” she asked, stepping over the empty delivery baskets that littered the boat. “How?” she repeated when he didn’t respond.

“Shh, we’ll talk when we’re alone.”

Atakan led her to the kitchen after they docked, verifying no one was there before entering. He wanted privacy. Even the limited information couldn’t be leaked. Director Firat gave him the grim details from the autopsy. He’d reveal only what was necessary to satisfy her questions.

He brought two bottles of spring water from the refrigerator over to the table where she sat. He unscrewed the cap of one and held it out to her.

She held the bottle on her lap. “You’ve dealt with Tischenko. You said she’d survive.”

“I regret the error in my analysis,” Atakan sighed as he sat. “I based my belief on my knowledge of the man and the time frame. Sadly, knowledge and my experience failed.”

“Why kill her?”

Charlotte looked for answers he didn’t have.

“You said, once Tischenko realized she wasn’t useful to him, he’d rape and abuse her, but ultimately release her. How could you be so wrong?”

The denunciation stung and he had no adequate defense. “What would you have me say? I’m a man. I’m not infallible.”

He took her silence as condemnation. “I’ll go,” he said, standing.

“Don’t...don’t leave, please.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Please, sit.” She patted the bench next to her.

“Speak your mind, if you think it helps. But know your anger with me cannot change what’s happened,” he said, still standing.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to get shitty. I’m venting and taking it out on you.”

Atakan sat.

“I’d like to know the details,” she said.

“It is better you don’t.”

“I can take the truth. Cop’s daughter and sister, remember.”

He contemplated if he should tell her more. She was resilient. A less flattering adjective would be steely. Surrounded by men and working in a tough environment, steely was good. She faced down his anger when she thought she was under arrest. Nor did she use her sex to garner sympathy like many women he’d interrogated. He respected her for it, but he’d stay to his original plan and offer only the basic details.

“Her body was recovered in Ankara, dumped at the gates of a Minister of Parliament’s home.”

“The Minister is Ekrem’s father, Mustafa isn’t it?”

He nodded, surprised she’d come to the correct conclusion with so little information.

She took a large swallow of water, looking lost in thought. He wondered what was going through her mind.

“Although the events occurred separately, I think it’s misleading to accept them in that context,” she said. “Viewing the bigger picture, they were killed as a couple. If you ask me, that’s your motive.”

“Go on.” He didn’t see the connection.

“The gulet attack was never about Ekrem’s work but the two of them. The part I don’t get is why. Who hated them equally?”

“I can think of no one.” The twist mystified him too. He suspected Heather’s murder was done as a diversion.

He approached Ekrem’s murder with two theories. The first was retaliation. Atakan had read through all Ekrem’s files on the USB drive the Ministry sent. No one Ekrem investigated or arrested stood out as a viable suspect. Most of the men and occasional woman he sent to prison were indigent opportunists. They weren’t the type of thieves who hired a Tischenko or who’d be acquainted with mutual contacts of his. The ones who had the financial ability were accounted for.

The second theory offered the strongest motive for both murders. To a private collector, all sites were potential targets of interest. Manpower shortages mandated the jobs with special unit investigators were limited to sites with the rarest of high value artifacts. By identifying the men who presented the toughest security, a black marketer could track those prized locations. It’s possible someone thought Ekrem told Heather who worked the unit. Atakan knew it wasn’t something Ekrem would’ve discussed with her though, not in detail. Torturing Heather gave them nothing. The fact they killed her trying to obtain the information meant a criminal organization had specific acquisitions in mind.

As much as Atakan wanted to support the second theory, one unanswered question kept running through his mind. Why kill Ekrem? The murder didn’t fit. Logically, they would’ve ambushed and interrogated Ekrem the way they did Heather and then killed him.

Charlotte’s suggestion they were targeted as a couple wasn’t impossible but highly improbable. He couldn’t dismiss it completely either. However slim, it had a shred of merit. It also left unanswered questions. Assuming the murders had nothing to do with the first two theories Charlotte’s theory still didn’t explain why they dumped Heather’s body on Mustafa Zeren’s doorstep. Over and over, he analyzed the event unable to find a reason. He had no clues, no indicators of motive, and no direction as to leads for leaving her there. For the sake of expedience, he dismissed the idea and concentrated on the first two theories.

“How did she die?” Charlotte asked, interrupting his thoughts.

“Drowned.”

“Freshwater or saltwater? The autopsy will tell if it was Black Sea water.”

He gave a deep sigh as he listened, anticipating where her questions were leading. In the back of his mind he wondered why nothing ever goes as planned. He prepared to answer what he thought she’d ask. He ran the series of questions he expected in his head on the shuttle boat.

Was she tortured? Did her death come swiftly once they realized she didn’t have any information? She wasn’t taunted and psychologically terrorized the entire time?

Could she stick with his planned scenario? No. She had to jump in with pathology results. He dreaded what was next. She’d play detective. She’d treat the case with the eye of a scientist and lay the evidence out in her imagination like recovered artifacts. Because of her family, she possessed general knowledge of criminal investigation. She’d want to discuss the matter in a mutual exchange of ideas, exactly like she was now. Anything he said would get reported back to her father and brother, who’d undoubtedly voice an opinion on it. Neither he, nor the Ministry, desired unsolicited commentary. He’d need to find a way to avoid those conversations. A task he feared was doomed to failure.

“They have conducted the autopsy, haven’t they?”

“Yes. It’s Black Sea water.” He answered her next questions before she asked. “Yes, we’ll intensify the hunt for Tischenko. But, he’s only the executioner. The person behind these acts remains a mystery.”

“Do you think my idea the murders are related to them as a couple has legs?”

“I hope not.”

“You never believe any of my theories.”

“I only know two, this one, and your Hektor is a real man one. You’re right. I don’t believe either,” he said.

“I’m telling you how I see it anyway. You assumed from the start the crimes are connected to his job. You concluded Tischenko took Heather to pry info out of her. I think you went wrong from Jump Street.”

“Jump Street?”

“Forget that. The important point is if it was info he and his employer sought, they’d have taken Ekrem.”

“I came to the same conclusion,” he reluctantly admitted. “That doesn’t mean--”

“I’m not finished. His employer is someone who obviously knew them both. He knew about the gulet trip. He knew where Heather lived. More important, he dumped her on Mustafa’s doorstep so he knew Ekrem’s family background.” Charlotte paused and he read the coming of another bizarre angle in her widened eyes. “Maybe it’s not a ‘he.’ A woman can hire a killer too. You might be looking for a spurned lover of Ekrem’s.”

“This is not an American television show. There’s no other woman, no female Ekrem kept as a lover who got jealous and contracted Tischenko.”

“You missed the whole point,” she said with some impatience. “I’m saying man or woman, either is possible. I am trying to get you to see the killings from a different perspective.”

“I’m certain this is about his position. Using your theory, whoever wanted them dead could’ve killed them weeks ago when the Zeren family announced their engagement.”

“Which goes to establishing my suspicion.”

“How?”

“The boat was attacked the weekend after the engagement was publicly announced. A fact the Ministry’s ignored.”

She wasn’t wrong about the official direction. He still didn’t view her theory as seriously viable. But, what if the investigation had taken the wrong path? He had to think about it for a minute.

“Well?”

“I’m thinking.” Her theory was too weak compared to the others. “No, what’s going on revolves around Ekrem’s job,” he said.

“That still doesn’t explain torturing Heather for info and not him.”

“Forget her for the moment.”

“What? You can’t forget a secondary victim who’s connected to the first.”

She was playing detective. Atakan cursed his luck.

“I am setting her aside for the moment. Let’s say, it wasn’t information based. What if it was in retaliation? Moored in the smaller marina, Ekrem was an easier target than in the village, thus the gulet attack.”

“I disagree.”

“Go on...you will anyway,” he said.

“Tischenko was in Spetsnaz. They certainly train people on sniper style weapons. Wouldn’t killing Ekrem be a piece of cake for a crack shot? He could hunker down behind a hillside shrub and pick Ekrem off as he sat outside having coffee or walking down the street.”

“Not his style. His expertise as a combat swimmer rules his methods. He likes watery deaths, the victim’s struggle for air.

“Staying with that line of thought,” he said, before Charlotte countered. “If he’d been after them as a couple, he’d have killed Heather in the water that night too.”

“No. Perhaps he wanted to, but we got to the Zodiac and to shore too fast. He took the one target knowing he’d get the second later. Please, don’t forget how the gulet was struck. The trawler barely missed the master cabin. Had the collision taken out their cabin, they’d both be in the water and vulnerable.”

“I realize your family background is influencing you here. But, you’re wrong. Do what you’re good at, science. Leave the detective work to investigators.”

From the defiant look in her eye, she wasn’t going to listen.

She put the water bottle on the table and swung her leg around to straddle the bench and face him. Now what? “No more theories, please,” he groaned.

“I’m not theorizing now. This is about you. You’ve tipped your hand.”

“’Tipped my hand?’ I’ve made no beggarly gesture.”

“It’s an expression. Forget it.”

“It sounds accusatory.”

“Accusatory, but enlightening. When we bring up a relic and we’re not sure of the origin or its use, we all throw out different ideas. It’s what archaeologists do. You’re not doing that here. You settled on a motive and are following it with lock step determination the way cop’s do.”

“This is tipping my hand how?”

“When we first met, you gave me the impression Ekrem called you because you’re his friend and coworker. You also said he was assigned to a different unit. You said the Ministry expanded your duties due to his death. I don’t believe that. You’ve always been more than a rep.”

Like a dog with a bone, she wasn’t going to stop nagging him about his exact status. “Yes, I am,” he said, giving in.

“Oh man, I should’ve fingered you for an investigator after that arrest game you ran on me.”

“But you didn’t, which is why you should not play detective with these murders.” Atakan finished his water and tossed the bottle into the recycle bin.

Charlotte threw hers in the same bin. “Would it kill you to consider another angle?” she asked and followed him outside.

“You want to help? Get Ursula’s phone. She’s on the Suraya now.”

“Wait outside our quarters, if no one’s there, no problem.”

She jogged into the women’s living area and returned a few seconds later. “Here.” She handed him the phone and half of her Bounty bar.

“Thanks,” he said around a mouthful of the candy and went into the men’s quarters.

When he returned, she inspected the phone for any visible change and couldn’t find anything different.

“Charlotte--”

“Put it back?”

He stared at her without answering.

“Fine. I’m going.”

Atakan stood in the doorway watching as she replaced the phone in Ursula’s dresser drawer.

“One more thing you should bear in mind, especially if my theory proves right,” Charlotte said, as she came out the door. “‘When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.’”

“With all due respect to Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I don’t need to chase my tail with an improbable. I have not one,” Atakan held up one then two fingers, “But two probable theories.”

“So, your odds of being wrong are doubled. Impressive.”

“We’re overdue in the lab,” he said and stuck the buds for his iPod in his ears before Charlotte could say anymore.

Chapter Fifty

Athens

“Anything new for me?” Stevan asked Tischenko. Information the Ukrainian’s source in Bozburun obtained regarding Atakan was for later use. Stevan’s main interest at the moment was the status of Charlotte Dashiell.

“Good news, she’d connected in some way with a collector who buys smuggled artifacts, a man called Waterman.”

“Waterman...never heard of him,” Stevan lied smoothly. “But, it makes our job easier.” Waterman wasn’t Tischenko’s business.

“There’s disagreement regarding her within the Ministry.”

“In-fighting, I like it. What’s the problem?”

“My man monitored a call to the Director from Vadim. He told Firat, he trusts her. The Director indicated his continued skepticism. If Vadim is proven wrong, his career as an investigator is over.”

“Interesting, he’s willing to risk his job for a woman. He’s probably sleeping with her.”

“My man says no. A stupid waste if you ask me. I saw her in Santorini. She’s very fuckable,” Tischenko said.

“So was Heather Hilliard, I’m told.” Yasar Ozen heard the explicit details from Savas Firat and repeated them to Stevan. Every depraved act Tischenko and his men forced on her pleased Stevan to hear about.

“She was all right the first day, bit used up after that for my tastes. I gave her to my men.”

Stevan smiled. “Good. As far as Dashiell goes, we need her. If it looks like Vadim might get in the way, have your man remove him.”

“Kill him whether he gets in the way or not.”

“I forgot you did time in a Turkish prison because of Vadim.”

“Yes, we go back a long way,” Tischenko said in a bitter tone. “Kill Vadim and you tied Dashiell to the murders of two Ministry officials. The government will go through the motions of a fair trial to keep the Americans happy. Then, they’ll convict her.”

“I like it. When the time comes, kill him.”

Chapter Fifty-One

Bozburun

Charlotte looked up as Uma dashed through the lab door.

“Sixty Euros please!” Uma said, before executing a pirouette in front of the table where Charlotte and Atakan worked. Above her head, she waggled an ivory container the size of a cigar box with gold trim and a gold lock.

“Look what we found.” She plunked the box down on the table. Talat stood behind her, arms crossed over his chest, looking way too smug.

Uma wasn’t given to girlish behavior in the past. Charlotte preferred the old, predictable Uma and wondered what sexual voodoo Talat knew to cause the transformation.

Charlotte examined the box. A rectangular gold plaque was attached to the lid and bottom. A ridged piece about the width of her thumb protruded from the middle of the plaque.

“From your smirks, you’ve opened this already,” she said to Uma, who nodded. “Is this the locking mechanism?” She pointed to the protruding piece.

Talat rested one hip on the table and explained. “It’s the key. Remove this device,” he said, indicating where she pointed, “and three pins inside slide into matching holes. The key raises them and displaces the bolt. This is a very ancient system, most clever. As you can see the box is unlocked. Lift the lid.”

Charlotte played with the lock first. She tugged on the piece, heard the interior pins fall into the holes and then pushed the key back to raise the pins again.

“Open it,” Atakan said.

He, Talat, and Uma leaned in close as she lifted the lid.

Inside fragments of lining stuck to the corners, mere slivers of thread and ragged scraps. The color long faded, the material and dye used would be determined through testing at a large facility. An ivory stand was fixed to the center of the box. Cradled on top of the stand was a gold cylinder seal, the cuneiform and glyphs as perfect as the day it was locked inside.

Charlotte took the seal out, inspecting it to see all the symbols.

“I think it’s the same one used to make the impression on the inside of the amphora. What do you think?” she asked Atakan. Their heads together she rotated the cylinder to the section showing the two royal figures.

“I agree.”

“I wonder who the seated king is,” Talat said, studying the seal before replacing it in the box.

“You and me both,” Charlotte said.

“I am excited to tell Ursula. She wants to recover a seal more than anything,” Uma said.

“Yeah, what’s up with that?” Charlotte figured Uma might have some sisterly insight she’d share. “She got nasty with Atakan over seals.”

“Let it go.”

“Atakan, I understand you don’t want to make a big deal out of her attitude. But, I disagree. She was out of line and for no justifiable reason.”

“Charlotte, I am flattered by your advocacy. However, I can defend myself. Let it go.”

“I don’t know why my sister is dogged about finding a seal.” Uma shrugged. “We are fascinated by different artifacts, seals are hers. I won’t attempt to address anything inappropriate she said since I wasn’t present to hear her comments.”

“Charlotte, stop trying to start a quarrel.”

Everyone turned at the sound of Refik’s voice.

“In answer to your question, the seated monarch is an unidentified Arzawan king. Yasar Ozen, the museum curator, you know him, don’t you,” Refik asked Atakan, who grunted a “yes.”

“Yasar has an epigrapher on his staff. I emailed the photos taken of the bands on the amphora. He deciphered a portion and ascertained it is an administrative letter from the Hittite king to Arzawa.”

Charlotte stared down at the plaster impression, her personal excitement reduced to archaeological enthusiasm alone.

“Good, now that we have that sorted--” Talat stuck his hand out to Atakan and Charlotte, “Your money, please.”

The outcome of the war is in our hands, the outcome of words is in the council.

The Iliad

Chapter Fifty-Two

Charlotte sat with her arms wrapped around her knees.

“Mind if I join you?” Atakan asked.

“Feel free. I warn you though, I’m not good company at the moment,” Charlotte said.

“You’re displeased,” he said and sat next to her on the blanket.

“More disappointed. How did you find me? I thought no one noticed I skulked off.”

“I noticed. Refik’s information troubled you and I know you like to hide up here on your hill when you are distressed.”

A gull circled above them, screeching.

“I’m probably going to get shit on. It’s been that kind of day.” Charlotte tipped her head back, tracking the bird.

“Stop. You’re upset over the fact the second king is not Priam. Why does this upset you so? None of the artifacts we’ve found can be directly linked to your Troy, the Troy in your head. This is one more that doesn’t suit.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him shrug.

“That’s the crux of the problem. It is one more non-Trojan piece.”

She stretched out on her stomach. Folding her arms, she used them as a pillow and angled her head toward Atakan. “If I don’t find a positive connection my dissertation is in the toilet. Years of study and research gone to waste. It’ll be a terrible setback.”

“Yes, but that is all it is...a setback.”

“Easy for you to say, Dr. Vadim. How would you’ve felt if your thesis was ruined?”

“Frustrated and disappointed, but not destroyed.”

Atakan lay down next to her, pillowing his head on his arms too. “Charlotte, when you chose such a controversial subject, did you not consider the odds against you succeeding?”

“Yes...no, I didn’t dwell on failure.”

“If it turns out you’re wrong about this wreck, you haven’t failed. You need only to change direction. You have a world of topics to write on from this project.”

“I know, and I will.”

She hadn’t decided when she’d tell Dr. Mortensen about this latest non-Trojan relic. She didn’t kid herself. Monarchs from other kingdoms might be the death knell with the committee. Eventually, she’d have to report. If they withdrew approval, her only option was to suggest another avenue of study related to the wreck. Whatever the outcome, she’d like someone, just one other person to believe her.

Charlotte turned her head toward the sea, debating. Should she tell Atakan her secret? Maybe if he knew, he’d understand more why she was so determined to prove her theory. Or, more likely laugh in her face.

Not far from the cove a large animal broke the water’s surface and dived down again. A dolphin? She saw them frequently from her perch on the hill and loved watching them. Grace and beauty personified. Nothing breached again. Must’ve been a fish.

“It’s not a dolphin,” Atakan said.

“How did you know I was thinking that?” she asked, turning to him.

“You always watch the dolphins when we’re on the Suraya.”

“I do.”

“You watch until they’re out of sight.”

“You notice a lot of things,” she said.

“Yes.”

“Do you wish to talk more or shall we lay quiet, enjoying the view? I’m torn asking that question. You’re usually not so taciturn. I don’t know whether to provoke conversation or savor the silence,” Atakan teased.

He tried to look innocent and failed unable to stifle a huge grin. She laughed in spite of her mood. He had that ability. She decided to trust him with her secret.

“Atakan, can I share something with you that I’ve never told anyone? It will sound strange, but it might help you to see why I am so focused on Troy.”

“I take it the moment of silence is over,” he said. He looked skeptical and added, “By strange you mean crazy.”

“Strange means you need to keep an open mind.”

“Open mind means it’s definitely crazy.”

“If you can’t be at least objective, then forget it,” she said, facing the sea again.

“I promise to be a paragon of objectivity. Tell me your story.”

She propped her head on her fist and said, matter-of-factly, “Hektor spoke to me.”

“Hektor who?”

“Don’t be obtuse, Trojan Hektor.”

Atakan’s brows lifted and stayed lifted, his eyes wide. “Homer’s Hektor?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. When did he do this?”

“Remember when I told you about standing on the ruin at Troy and seeing his burial mound?”

Atakan nodded.

“I felt him, his presence. It was as though he was speaking to me.”

Atakan stared at her, silent, looking mystified as he digested what she’d told him. “Did he speak to you in English or Luwian?”

“You’re being an ass now. I told you something very private and you’re mocking me.”

“Mocking? No, I’m just trying to get the story straight.”

“He didn’t speak to me literally. I said I sensed him. I was touched by the spirit of the man and the desire for another truth to be told, a different truth than Homer’s. Hektor’s image came to me. I visualized him so clearly in my mind. Please, please don’t think I’m crazy.”

Atakan reached over and plucked a wild, red poppy from a patch near her head. He rolled the stem between his fingers before handing it to her.

“Not crazy, but prone perhaps to an overactive imagination,” he said as she took the poppy. “You have a profound interest in Troy. So much mystery surrounds the place I think you let the mood of the ruin influence you.”

The image wasn’t real. That would be crazy. But the emotion was too strong to be a figment of her imagination. Atakan sounded certain in his analysis. Maybe he was right. She always suspected Homer of political pandering and playing the story the way his audience wanted the outcome to be. Maybe she subconsciously convinced herself the wind was Hektor.

“Haven’t you experienced something you couldn’t explain, something intangible yet powerful?”

“No,” he said, “Nor, do fictional people speak to me. I’m not a spiritual man. Everything has a scientific explanation, even if the science is still unknown to us.”

“I can’t disagree,” she conceded. “Although, I rather enjoyed the idea it was his spirit.”

Atakan made a show of glancing over both his shoulders and scanning the shrubbery before he whispered, “Has he spoken to you lately?”

Charlotte shoved him hard on the shoulder, crushing the bloom. “Jerk.”

Laughing, he grasped her wrist. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t resist. I assume this violent attack means your mood is better?”

She tossed the poppy aside. “Yeah.”

“Seriously, don’t surrender to depression if your theory doesn’t come to fruition. Be the scientist, re-evaluate and adjust.”

A sudden and refreshing gust of wind sent the poppy over the cliff. It was the first hint of a breeze on the hot day.

“Want to go back?” Atakan asked, standing.

Charlotte nodded and stood. They folded the blanket and started to camp.

“Charlotte, personal opinion, I think it best to keep Hektor’s conversations with you between us.”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious.”

Chapter Fifty-Three

High winds from a meltemi storm blew out of the north southward across the Turkish coast. The blistering sun beat down all morning. When Charlotte and Atakan were on the hill, the skies were blue, not a cloud in sight. Within hours of their return, the winds struck without warning. They whipped through camp late in the afternoon. Hot, dry and dusty, they were often compared to the Sirocco winds out of the North African desert that blow across the Mediterranean.

Artifacts were thrown to the floor as the cloths on the lab tables were ripped off. Everyone scrambled to rescue the ancient works and tie the canvas sides of the lab down.

“They need us outside to help anchor the heavy equipment,” Atakan shouted over the wind’s roar.

“We’re fine. Go.” Charlotte raced to catch a small amphora rolling along the floor.

Atakan and Gerard rushed out. Charlotte and Uma hurriedly gathered the pieces the four had been cleaning and got them into storage containers.

Rachel and Martine joined Uma and Charlotte grabbing any cloth or cover they could find to protect the computers.

Personal laundry they’d hung out was scattered among the rocks and shrubs bordering the camp. They’d be picked up later when time allowed.

Out at the wreck site, in the open water, the Suraya weighed anchor and sailed toward shore. Refik moored her in the sheltered cove adjacent to camp. The ship was large enough to withstand the winds but he wouldn’t risk the on-deck equipment.

The strong winds continued into the night. In the predawn hours, they finally moved eastward toward the Greek Islands. At first light, everyone joined Refik in the center of camp. He broke the team into two groups. One to repair the damage wreaked on the lab and other canvas walled structures. The second group handled the carpentry work reinforcing the screened and wooden buildings as a preventative measure against another storm.

The shower stall had blown over. The overhead water tank fastened to the support poles was intact but empty. Storm repairs to the small boats that delivered the fresh water delayed the scheduled refill. A new supply wouldn’t be brought in until the next morning.

Cleanup and camp repair work lasted from early morning until sunset and sunset was at eight-thirty, a full fourteen hours. By the time they finished, none of the team felt like drinking or eating in the village. Everyone collapsed on blankets and towels with plates of sandwiches and beer kept cold by the kitchen’s massive generator. Charlotte declined the beer and opened a warm bottle of French Medoc she’d been saving.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been grittier, sweatier or smellier in my life,” she said and plopped down to share a blanket with Atakan.

“I have, but it was a long time ago when I did my military service.”

“You were in the military?”

“Yes, for my mandatory service when I was eighteen. I hated it, the worst months of my life.”

“What was your assignment?”

“Watching the southeastern border. I had a great view of northern Iraq’s wildlife...snakes, lizards, and loathsome camel spiders.”

Charlotte shuddered and sucked down a swallow of wine. “Your father was a high ranking officer. Couldn’t he secure a better deployment for you?”

“Yes. But it is not his nature to use his influence for trivialities.”

“You’re his son not a triviality.”

“As an officer’s son, he expected me to accept the orders given me and execute them faithfully. This was my duty.”

“Did you ever tell him how much you hated it where you were?”

“To what purpose?”

The rigid philosophy of the Vadim men, although honorable, was a tad myopic. The Chicago in her couldn’t help but think, what’s the use of having an influential father if you don’t utilize it once in awhile? The soundness of that reasoning was instantly undermined by the memory of the heated discussion she had with Atakan over her use of Sun Bear’s influence.

“Have you ever gone against a superior when you thought they were dead wrong?” she asked.

“Once...and no, I don’t want to discuss it.”

#

The next day was hotter than usual. By breakfast, the heat from the sun’s glare combined with the grit covering everyone’s skin made all of them cranky and uncomfortable. Like lemmings, they dove into the soothing water of the Aegean, Charlotte among them.

“Come with us to the cove,” Uma said, swimming towards the inlet.

“Go on without me. I’m heading for the promontory,” Charlotte said.

“The cove’s beach is better, less rocks.”

“But the dolphin pods like to hang by the promontory. See you back at camp.”

Charlotte floated on her back with her eyes closed for several minutes until the sunlight started to sting her face. She turned over and swam away from the shore, stretching it out using a long breast stroke. She was a good hundred yards from the beach which wasn’t an uncommon distance for any of them to swim. She’d only gone a few yards more when a series of waves, three footers, rolled over her. She thought it odd but unimportant. Generally, the sea around the peninsula wasn’t prone to waves of noticeable height during the summer season. She swam through the few sets without much of a problem. A sudden, fast current caught her after the last wave. It sucked her farther out, farther than she’d planned on, and farther than she’d been before.

Like all the team, she was a strong swimmer and tried to power through the swells and turn back. Fighting the tide, she wasn’t making any progress. The current was sweeping her the opposite direction and toward the open water. She kicked harder as the waves surged over her head, pushing against her strokes, the salt irritating her eyes. The bigger rollers kicked her ass. They were followed by rapid, much smaller rollers. Those piddling whitecaps were kicking her ass worse. Every time she opened her mouth to take a gulp of air after the first set, the second-string whitecaps smacked her in the face, sending more seawater into her lungs than air.

She caught glimpses of the increasingly distant beach. If she screamed for help no one would hear. She forced herself not to panic. She stopped struggling and bobbed in the water, drifting, studying the flow of the current and calculating. South/Southeast. South meant open water and almost certain drowning. Southeast led to the promontory and the strip of beach she could take back to camp.

The water swirled around her forming circles that spun one direction or the other. She lengthened her stroke, feeling the strain in her ribs as she pushed through the water. She found an eddy that spun southeast and fought her way toward the shore.

When she reached the point where the water wasn’t over her head, she waded ashore. Exhausted, she dropped to her knees on the sand, wracked by coughing from swallowed saltwater. Panting, she pinched her nose closed with her fingers trying to stem the stream of snot the sea triggered. After a few minutes, the coughing lessened and her nose stopped running. Charlotte stood and rinsed her hands in the water then flipped her hair from her face, smoothing it back with her palms.

The water was calm now, glassy with only an occasional minor whitecap breaking. A stone’s throw away, two dolphins breached, dived, breached and dived again.

“Real nice timing. Where were you five minutes ago, Flipper? I could’ve used a ride.”

Her heart was still pounding from the exertion of fighting the current when she reached camp and Atakan approached.

“We had an earthquake while you were in the water,” he said.

“That explains the wicked rip tide I got caught in. I almost drowned.”

He grunted. “Why didn’t you call for help?”

“I was too far out and the current moved too fast for you to hear.”

“You should have yelled anyway. Cilgin sey! What is wrong with you? You know better than to swim such a distance alone.”

“I’m not an idiot. I’m a victim of circumstance.”

He took her chin in his fingers and tipped her head to each side checking her out in the sunlight.

“What are you looking for?”

“I am looking at your eyes. They’re pink and puffy as a baboon’s bottom.”

“That’s the best comparison you could come up with?”

“No, it’s just the first one that came to my mind.”

She batted his hand away. “How big was the quake?”

“I’d guess a 5.0. There’s no official announcement yet, only that it was an underwater quake and the epicenter was several miles off Rhodes.”

“Shake and bake.”

Atakan looked puzzled.

“It’s what Californians say when you get an earthquake on a super hot day,” she explained. “Anything in camp wrecked?”

“No. But, if you’re feeling fine and your eyes aren’t too sore, you need to get ready. Refik is on the Suraya and we’re the starting dive team. We’ll report any new quake damage to the wreck. If no major problems exist, you and I are authorized to explore the area behind the goddesses.”

“Fantastic. Give me a minute to put drops in my eyes and we can go.” Charlotte slapped Atakan on the ass as she took off, smiling to herself at his startled expression.

Chapter Fifty-Four

“Fingers crossed for you, Charlotte. I hope you discover an effective entry. It is my wish you find your proof,” Refik said.

“Thank you.” It was the first time he’d offered her encouraging words for her theory. Then, he ruined her sense of delight.

“Stay to the inspection area unless you’re positive it’s safe to enter the interior,” Refik warned. “You, I’m not worried about,” he said quietly to Atakan.

Charlotte heard and looked up while slipping her fins on. “You’re worried about me? Why?”

Refik walked away ignoring the question.

Atakan answered, but whatever he said was drowned out by his fins slapping against the deck.

“Hey, what did he mean?” Charlotte repeated and followed him to the dive platform.

“He’s concerned your enthusiasm might override good sense, that you might--wait there’s a phrase in English which applies.” Atakan made a pretense of trying to recall the words. Frowning as though concentrating, he tapped the side of his temple. “It’s screw-up. You might screw-up. He says don’t.”

The assumption annoyed and baffled her. She hadn’t done anything to deserve it. She kept silent. Only a fool or a dope would challenge Refik. She was neither. However, Atakan was another story.

“Here’s another English phrase for you. Bite me.”

“Where? A variety of images fills my imagination even now.”

“You tell me. What’s your preference when you play sultan and harem girl?”

A flash of surprise crossed his face. He apparently never expected her to mention the amusing sex game again. Foolish man. Like good saffron, she’d use it when a little zing was called for.

He glanced around to see if anyone heard her. “Shh, what did I tell you about discussing such things? It’s very improper for you to bring this up in conversation with a man.”

She hooked her finger through the loop on his wetsuit’s zipper and tugged, forcing him to bend close. “Gotta news flash—sultan, that little nugget about you is gold.”

She released her hold, pulled her mask down and adjusted it. “Mask up,” she said and moved to the bottom step of the platform.

He fixed his mask over his nose and cheeks and hopped down next to her. “This is a fantasy. You said I play this dressing up game. I never said I did.”

“Can’t hear you, jumping in now.” She disappeared under the water’s surface.

Atakan lowered himself on the guideline behind her.

Prior to the meltemi, Talat and Refik set up the large stationary lamps. Today was the first chance the team had to return to the wreck. As soon as the Suraya anchored, Talat had started the generators for the lights. Charlotte flipped the one they’d use on and angled it toward their designated area.

They exchanged a mutual “oh shit” look. Charlotte and Atakan stood side-by-side on the seafloor analyzing the stern’s severe shift in position. Any hoped for entrance in the unexplored section of the hold today had to be postponed. They’d discuss the situation with Refik.

They stayed off the wreck while conducting the inspection. Fallen rock spilled over most of the stern’s port side, likely the result of the morning’s earthquake. The ship sustained significant new damage. The new problems negated the progress the team had made removing the rotted planks over the Rhodian amphoras. In addition to the excess strain from the rocks, more decking had collapsed onto the hold behind the statues. The deepest recesses of the cargo area might prove inaccessible this dive season. Charlotte’s spirit sank at the thought of this lost opportunity.

The added weight forced everything from mid-ship to tilt sharply toward the slope. The shift tweaked the back end further weakening its stability. The wreck was being torn apart, the forces of nature twisting one side of the ship in one direction and the other side in the opposite direction.

Atakan and Charlotte freed the heavy cord attached to the light from the sandy cover where Talat and Refik had buried it. Each took an end and lit the interior.

They located a possible entry to the hold. In the chaos of broken planks, pottery knocked askew and partially covered goddesses, a dark triangle appeared in the light. Together, they tested the sturdiness of another layer of rocks. It felt firm enough to support them and they climbed down closer for a better look. The opening was small. Charlotte thought with some additional removal work a solo diver might be able to pass through.

She tapped her watch face, held up three fingers, tapped her chest, and pointed to the black hole. She wanted to see if there was a way to estimate the extent of the damage and if access was feasible. Atakan nodded he understood and waited on the rock pile within sight.

She picked her way across the planks. She straddled a pile of shattered deck and rocks and bent to light the entry. The goddesses swayed as a sharp aftershock sent a jolt through the wreck. The ship groaned as the wall of rocks broke and rolled over the ancient hull. The tremor loosened stones from higher on the submerged cliff. The heavy rumble of the crumbling precipice reverberated through the water.

She backed out at the onset and joined Atakan.

They swam out over the slope observing what additional dangers the movement caused. Around them, the ship gave another loud groan as the stern slid further into the deeper water. They kicked hard, hurrying from the immediate area. If they were too close and the stern broke free, they could get caught in the downward rush of water. The wreck continued to creak as they swam to the first decomp station.

Chapter Fifty-Five

Sevastopol

Maksym tapped the top of the fresh package of unfiltered Gitanes against his palm. The tobacco packed down well. He thought the habit made the first puff more potent. This is what he was told years ago when he was a young army recruit. The theory sounded reasonable. He removed the cellophane and inner foil, then tapped the corner against his finger. Three cigarettes slid out.

His phone rang. He checked his watch. Garabed’s call was right on time.

“Talk to me,” Maksym said, lighting a cigarette.

“Not as much new as I hoped. Vadim routinely reports on what artifacts they’ve recovered. Most of the rest of his conversations with Firat are administrative in nature.”

“This is disappointing.”

“He also discussed Ekrem’s woman and the possibility the two murders were a personal vendetta.”

Maksym plucked a leaf of loose tobacco from his tongue, wondering how he made the real connection. It wasn’t the investigative path he thought Atakan would take. Ministry men focused on smuggling operations in their inquiries. It was an interesting deviation for Atakan to consider.

“Go on.”

“Firat denied there was any validity to the premise.”

Maksym didn’t respond. He’d talk to Stevan. In spite of Firat’s negative reaction, the fact Vadim had hit upon the truth might require a change in plans. If Maksym was planning the operation, he’d step-up the time table.

“You still there?” Garabed asked.

“Yes. Anything else I should know?”

“Yes, we may need to cut my activity here short. Someone has been asking the locals about the Damla family. I do not know who is the nosy one, could be Vadim or one of a couple of others. None have challenged the existence of Basri Damla, but I suspect I am on borrowed time.”

“I will see what my employer wants and get back to you.” “One more thing. The Schweiger woman...I want her when I am finished here.”

“Not a problem.”

Chapter Fifty-Six

Bozburun

“Good news.” Refik propped his feet on his desk. A damp towel hung around his neck. “Well, good news tempered with so-so news. Sit,” he told Charlotte and Atakan, gesturing to the empty chairs in front of his desk.

“What’s the so-so news?” From Refik’s casual attitude, Charlotte guessed it couldn’t be too bad.

“For this season, I’ve decided on very limited access to the stern hold. Maybe next year the situation will change.”

“I thought as much.” Charlotte rated the news below so-so but better than horrible.

The safety problems had continued to mount. Unlike treasure hunters, MIAR staff respected the dangers of the sea and chose caution over everything else. Risk factors weren’t taken as seriously by treasure hunters. MIAR was lucky. Although the wreck was known to the public, it was protected by the Turkish Navy who patrolled the area. MIAR also maintained good relationships with local fishermen. They kept a watchful eye on the location during the off season.

“You say access isn’t impossible this season, just limited,” she said. “We will work some portion.”

“Yes, but it will be last, which is still good news.” Refik ran the towel over his hair, balled it up, and then tossed it into a corner basket.

“You and Talat re-evaluated the wreck subsequent to the aftershock. What did you find?” Atakan asked.

“Stacks of pottery and trade goods remain in the primary cargo area which is stable. Set off to one side, under extra layers of dunnage are rows of large pithoi. I want those to come up as soon as possible. Tomorrow’s dive you two start work there.” Refik covered his mouth and yawned. Then, he yawned a second time. “Don’t mean to yawn in your face, my butt is dragging. Talat and I fought rougher than usual currents.

Charlotte’s nostrils flared as she suffocated a sympathetic yawn of her own. “I got caught in a strong, swift current after this morning’s first tremor.”

The screen door squeaked open and the three of them looked up. Talat came in a cigarette dangling from his mouth. He didn’t say hello or acknowledge anyone, not even Refik. He went right to the narrow office sofa and sprawled out with one leg on the cushions and one leg hanging off the edge. He laid there with his eyes closed managing to inhale and exhale without removing the cigarette. Smoke streamed from his nose and between his lips.

Charlotte wondered how he managed without choking. She asked him once. He said he learned it at an early age. His father worked the docks in Istanbul where all the stevedores smoked. For them, hands free smoking was a necessity as they loaded and unloaded containers.

Refik removed an ashtray that advertised the Panorama Café in Bodrum from a drawer and slid it across the floor to Talat.

Talat took the cigarette out of his mouth. He opened his eyes only long enough to locate the ashtray and drop the cigarette into it. Eyes closed again, he patted the red and black striped cushion and asked, “Where did you get this piece of junk...a prison fire sale?”

“My mother-in-law gave it to me. She--”

Talat swung his legs around and sat up. “Say no more, Refik. I’ve been married. I understand completely,” he said, laughing. He shot a glance at Atakan who chuckled along.

Talat looked between Atakan and Refik. “Anyone know who that heavyset bearded guy is, the one who stinks like a goat? Which is an offense to goats.”

“His name is Basri Damla. He claims to live with his brother’s family on a local farm,” Atakan said. “Why?”

“I saw him leave the conservation lab where I know he has no business. I was about to confront him when Ursula came out. They talked for a minute and then he left. I asked her what he was doing. She said he was making a delivery and she asked him to stop by the lab before he left. She said she gave him a list of items she wanted from the village.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Refik said.

“I don’t like the fact he was in the lab,” Atakan said.

“Showing up in places he doesn’t belong is becoming a habit for him.” Charlotte pointed to Atakan and then to herself with her thumb. “We caught him in the men’s dormitory a few weeks ago. He said he had a delivery and didn’t know where the kitchen was. Atakan doesn’t trust him. Do you?”

“No. I ran a name check on him through the Ministry’s sources and nothing came back. That alone makes me suspicious. It’s hard to tell with his facial hair, but I estimated his age in the middle thirties. Good guess?” he asked Charlotte.

“Sounds good to me,” she said and added, “Hard to say, it’s like ball parking the age of a bear.”

“The point is, a man in his thirties with no government documentation of any kind, I find extraordinary, too odd for belief. Too much is wrong with him. He alleges his deliveries here are to assist his brother,” Atakan said.

“I asked in the village about a family named Damla. The old men at the café remember the name. They said they hadn’t seen anyone from the family in years. Their farm was on the backside of the hills in a remote canyon.”

“Don’t forget the soft hands,” Charlotte reminded him.

“Soft hands?” Refik looked puzzled.

Atakan explained.

Everyone remained quiet as Refik seemed to consider the stranger’s sudden appearance. “Under other circumstances, I’d ban the man from camp. But I’m going to defer the decision to you,” he said to Atakan. “I assume since your check was unusual, you intend to dig deeper.”

“Oh, yes.”

“How do you want to handle the problem?” Refik asked.

“Don’t stop him from coming. Let’s watch him. Whatever he’s planning, I believe he’ll try soon.”

“Based on?” Charlotte was intrigued.

“A member of a family no one’s seen in years mysteriously appears. On paper, he doesn’t exist. The government takes a dim view of people without documentation. I take a dim view of such people. In my experience, a stranger’s uninvited presence at an archaeological site means trouble, especially one who’s untraceable. Whatever his plan, the sooner he acts on it, the easier for him to evade detection. The longer he remains in the area, the more attention he draws to himself.”

In Charlotte’s opinion, Atakan was too restrictive in his thinking regarding Damla. “Maybe he’s not in the system because he’s not Turkish. The day we talked to him, did he sound like a native to you? To me, he did. But I wouldn’t recognize subtle dialect differences.”

Atakan sat silent for a long moment, replaying the conversation again in his head. “He had an accent uncommon to this area. It’s not common to Istanbul or Ankara either. At the time, I placed it from our northeast region. It occurs to me now, he might’ve been Armenian. You made a good point.”

“Thank you. Every once in awhile the cop DNA in me comes through,” she said, pleased.

“I need a better picture of him to request a face recognition search through Armenian NCB.”

“We all have camera cell phones,” Talat said. “One of us is bound to snap a photo of him.”

Encouraged by Atakan’s compliment, Charlotte asked, “Can you find where he’s staying? If this family doesn’t exist, he’s bunking somewhere.”

“Too many questions in the village will raise gossip which might get back to him. I don’t want him tipped off. In a perfect scenario, I’d follow him. If I see him in camp and it’s feasible, I will.”

“Big problem there,” Charlotte said, visualizing the landscape. “You can slink around for a short distance behind the scrub and rocks. Once he gets to the road it’s flatter than flat. You’ve got no cover. It’s worse when you hit the village. He’s going to know you’re tailing him.”

“’You’ve got no cover, tailing him.’ American police talk, stirs the blood.” Talat continued to amuse himself with more cop clichés. “’Take him down, freeze or I’ll shoot, hands in the air, douche bag.’”

He quit after noticing the annoyed looks from the other three. “Sorry, go on.”

“As I was saying,” Charlotte shot another nasty glance at Talat. “A lone male following him, especially you, and Damla will take evasive action. He’ll lose you.”

“Like I said, it’s a feasibility issue,” Atakan reiterated.

“Take me,” Charlotte told him.

His brows dipped. “You?” he said, in a condescending tone she didn’t care for.

“Yes, me. Nobody’s suspicious of a couple walking the same way.”

“No.”

“Atakan--”

“No. Should any of you see him here just contact me.”

“I’d like to discuss my idea further, later in private.”

“Lucky you,” Talat commented wryly.

Atakan stood to leave.

“I’ll catch up,” Charlotte told him and turned to Talat. “Do you even know what a douche bag is?”

He shook his head.

“I didn’t think so.” Charlotte started out the door when Talat asked, “Aren’t you going to tell me?”

“Ask Rachel.”

Chapter Fifty-Seven

“You had all night to sleep on my suggestion. What about it?” Charlotte asked.

“I did not need sleep to consider your scheme. The answer was no yesterday and still is.” Atakan leaned against a section of bulkhead in the shade.

“Are you always this obstinate?”

“Only when silliness requires it.”

“Can I at least ask questions?”

“I doubt saying no would stop you.”

“What’s going on?” Charlotte smacked the side of her leg with her fins and paced a circular path on the Suraya’s bow. She stayed on the wet part of the deck avoiding the sole-blistering sun-drenched areas.

“What do you mean?”

“Our backup team today was Ursula and Gerard. Then, with no explanation, Refik pulls Ursula and replaces her with Uma.”

Atakan shrugged. “Who knows?”

“I bet you do.”

“No idea.”

He’d shown too much interest in Ursula for him not to know. Charlotte tried to piece together the few clues she had. Atakan’s interest in Ursula came on the heels of his suspicions about Damla. He must think the two are involved in some kind of illegal activity together. What?

The logical choice was the theft of an artifact. But that didn’t make sense looking at Damla. No one in their right mind would buy a stolen piece from him. Hand him cash and trust what you’re buying is legit and not a Chinese copy, hardly. Even if he possessed forged paperwork authenticating a piece, only an idiot wouldn’t doubt the document.

The more she thought about the possibility, the more remote it seemed. Refik’s stringent control over everything they recovered made theft almost impossible. Ursula would never get away with it not with Atakan keeping watch too. No, he had to be suspicious of her for something else.

Charlotte pressed Atakan for an answer. “No idea? She’s scheduled and suited up for the dive. You and Refik talk and she’s yanked. But, you had nothing to do with it.”

“Why do you care? What’s the difference who’s our backup?”

“She got removed for a reason. I want to know why.”

“Ask Refik.”

“I’m asking you.” Charlotte stopped her monotonous loop.

Atakan pushed off the bulkhead and slipped his fins on.

She blocked him from walking away.

Atakan ignored her and busied himself double checking his equipment.

Voices and laughter from mid-ship carried to where they talked. Charlotte glanced behind her to make certain no one else was in listening distance.

“First you mess with her cell, now Refik has her under Talat’s nose. Your attitude, even your body language changes when you talk to her. Maybe she hasn’t noticed but I have.”

“Uma’s here,” he said. “Let’s go.”

“This isn’t over,” Charlotte said, poking him in the chest. “You pushed me for answers when you wanted them. Now, I’m pushing back.”

“Fine. This afternoon, when we’re done with our second dive we’ll go to the café and talk. Deal?”

“Deal.”

#

The bakery woman brought two bottled colas with straws and a plate of unsolicited orange slices. She gave Atakan’s shoulder a familiar squeeze as she set the plate down, then left.

“If Ursula is involved with Damla, then what do you suspect he intends to do?” Charlotte peeled the paper from the straw. “Why would she help? They’ve no common ground,” she observed, tying a knot in the plastic straw.

“There’s the problem. I don’t know.”

“You tapped her phone, didn’t you?”

“I did not tap her phone.”

“Semantics. Bottom line, you messed with it in some way. Bugged it or whatever secret spy term you use.”

“I’m no spy, but if I were, I’d be excellent.”

Atakan leaned an elbow on the table and arched a brow. In the worst English accent Charlotte ever heard, said, “Bond, James Bond.”

“Say that again.” She was working it now, sucking him in so he’d think his impression was remotely good.

“Bond, James Bond.”

“That was almost cool.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“You say Jams. It’s James, long ‘a’. Jam is for toast and what was that accent?”

“English, of course.”

Cocking her head, she said, “hear that?”

“What?”

“The sound of Ian Fleming turning over in his grave.”

“Friends tell me I sound like T.E. Lawrence.”

Now she leaned forward on both elbows. “Lawrence of Arabia, that T.E. Lawrence?”

“Yes,” he said, sounding incredulous that she had to ask.

“Yeah, whatever you say, Jams.”

Charlotte played along with Atakan’s effort to change the subject and now brought the topic back on track.

“Your distraction attempt was valiant, but we were talking about Ursula. Have you learned anything from her phone tap?”

“Yes,” he said, finally admitting to the tap.

“Is it criminal?”

“I don’t have definitive proof.”

“Why wait? Take her in and interrogate her. Lord knows you had no trouble putting the screws to me.”

“You make my questioning of you sound medieval.”

“Your term, not mine, but--”

“Regarding Ursula, no crime’s occurred as yet. If she’s plotting something, I doubt she’s acting alone. I want to discover who her cohorts are.”

“Isn’t it Damla, according to your suspicions?”

“I’m convinced she’s doing something illegal with him. I don’t know if one act is separate from the other.”

He implicated her possible involvement in two unrelated crimes. Charlotte sipped her drink and wondered if either related to the murders. If Ursula’s co-conspirators were responsible, then the Ministry had no business letting Atakan work without a partner.

A shout went up from the OK players table. The same friends were regulars at the café. A small pile of change was pushed in front of the winner amidst ribald comments about his luck. The winner smiled taking the ribbing well. He was a jolly looking man, moon-faced, with shaggy grey hair, and old-fashioned black frame glasses with lenses as thick as her cola bottle. Give him a bow tie and tweed jacket and he’d pass for a mad scientist.

Charlotte keyed on his tee shirt. The well worn yellow shirt had a winged fish emblazoned on the front with Carpe Diem written below. Carpe Diem. You don’t see many of those shirts around anymore. What the flying fish symbolized, she didn’t know, but she knew the Latin phrase.

“You blew off my idea about the two of us following Damla together.”

“And?”

“And, I said we’d talk later. Later is now.”

Atakan groaned. “I hoped when I repeated no this morning you’d drop it.”

“You wish.”

“I’m hungry,” he said, changing the subject again.

“I want to help. What can I do?” she asked as he read a menu he’d taken from a neighboring table.

His eyes shot up.

“Don’t look so appalled. I’m capable of helping with the investigation.”

“This is a Ministry matter. If necessary, I’ll send for additional men from my unit.”

“But I’m here right now. Why work alone?”

“I’m a professional, and I’m fine. I usually work alone.” He studied the limited menu they’d all memorized long ago. “A kebab sounds good.”

“On a straight-up smuggling case working solo might be fine. What if she’s involved in the murders? You’re not safe,” Charlotte persisted.

“You do not work for the Ministry. You cannot interfere. You have no idea what you’re doing and that’s more dangerous.”

“I’m not clueless. I’ve heard stories and tactics and every kind of cop incident all my life. My family’s poured safety tips in my head for years. I’d be a great partner for you. Okay, maybe not great, but good.”

“This would be the family that sent your brother across thousands of miles to check on your safety?”

“I never said they don’t worry about me. Come on, give it a chance.”

“I forbid you to get involved.”

She rolled her eyes at the silly edict and at his stern demeanor. She’d heard and seen the same routine a million times growing up.

“You can’t forbid me to do anything. You don’t own me.”

“If I owned you, I’d sell you for such impertinence.”

“Too bad for you because I’m going to talk and you will at least listen.”

“Pislik herif,” he mumbled, resorting to Turkish for the blunt comment.

He forgot she spoke the language semi-fluently, including some slang. “Shitty luck, indeed,” Charlotte repeated back.

The bakery woman came to the table and asked if Atakan wanted to order food. She shot a hopeful glance at the menu.

“No, thank you. I have lost my appetite.”

She took the menu and left.

“I’m not asking to assist in an arrest or stayed glued to your hip. I can follow Ursula. I can check for a diary or incriminating papers in her personal stuff.”

“Do you have an aspirin in your purse?”

“Yes.” She retrieved a small tin from the center pocket and handed it to him.

There was one pill left. Atakan popped it into his mouth. Her mouth watered hearing him crunch on the bitter tablet before chasing it down with a swallow of the cola. She felt like asking why he didn’t chase the whole pill with the cola.

“Charlotte, if you won’t listen to my order forbidding you, then I ask you to please, for my sake, honor my strong request. Stay out of this.”

“I worry. I’m afraid you’ll get hurt. You shouldn’t be alone on this. Don’t laugh at me.”

“I’m not laughing. I am smiling. You are very sweet to be so concerned for me.”

“Do not call me sweet.”

“Why?”

“It’s a lame compliment. You call Miss Congeniality in a beauty contest sweet.”

“I will rephrase. Your concern pleases me, but I know how to handle myself in a bad situation. If you’re involved my concentration is split. Fear you’ll be injured will be a constant worry.”

He reached over and pushed the corners of her mouth up. “At last a smile. Trust me. I’m good at my job.”

“Promise me, if you need help, you’ll ask. I mean, if the shit really hits the fan, I can shoot a gun.”

“Of course you can. You’re an American.”

“Very funny, but I didn’t hear a promise. Are we agreed?”

“Agreed.”

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Atakan ate a kebab on the walk back to camp. They discussed Lawrence of Arabia and his contribution to the revolt by Arab tribes. Although Charlotte neglected to credit him, Atakan impressed himself with the objectivity he’d shown regarding Lawrence. After all, it was the Turks they rebelled against.

His phone rang when they reached the compound entrance.

“I’m off to the shower,” Charlotte said.

He nodded and checked the caller I.D. It was the Director.

“Vadim.”

“Minister Zeren called me a few minutes ago.”

No salutation. No polite hello, how are you Vadim?

“Yes,” Atakan said, irritated with Firat’s tone.

“You met Ekrem’s woman?”

“Yes, several times.”

“Did she ever mention Moira Hilliard?”

“Maybe, I don’t remember. Why?”

“She’s Heather Hilliard’s wealthy, widowed grandmother.”

“So--”

“Grandmother Hilliard,” Firat interrupted, “is a major contributor to a Virginia senator, who is close friends with the ambassador here. The Secretary to the American Ambassador called the Minister. He demanded to know what progress we have made on Ekrem’s case and especially Heather Hilliard’s murder.” The Director continued, “The Minister had no answer. A fact which displeased him greatly and which he expressed in strong terms when he called me.”

“Why are the Americans so interested?”

“An American professor is kidnapped from her apartment in Istanbul and found murdered. Why do you think?”

“This is a motive specific crime and not a random one.”

“A technicality the American media doesn’t care about. Do I have to tell you how many U.S. tourists visit Turkey? How much they spend?”

“The Hilliard case is being handled by the Istanbul police.”

“The Minister is demanding we oversee their investigation.”

Atakan knew where Firat was headed with this call. He was hundreds of kilometers from where the woman was abducted and killed. Ekrem’s father shit on the Director and now the Director was looking to dump on someone. Atakan swallowed back a burp that tasted of cumin and garlic, wishing he hadn’t answered the phone.

“Where are we on the Schweiger matter?” Firat asked.

“I’m in a holding pattern until someone makes the next move. From her calls, I believe it’s to occur soon.”

“A potential crime with no connection to Ekrem’s death, the Director stressed. As you recall, his murder was the reason I assigned you to the project.”

Atakan doubted Ursula was involved with Heather’s murder. Nothing so far, indicated they ever met. Ekrem’s murder was a remote possibility, if it turned out Ursula was part of a smuggling ring. At this point, he couldn’t find a common thread between the various people.

“No. I haven’t found a connection.”

Firat continued his rant. “Bring this to a conclusion and soon.”

“I will do my best.”

“Hah! Do not do your best. Do whatever it takes. I want your ass up here dealing with the Hilliard case.”

What did the Director expect of him? Snap his fingers perhaps and order Ursula and Damla to do whatever it is they’re planning and be quick about it.

“Yes,” Atakan said, but the Director already hung up.

Atakan closed his phone and walked to where Talat was drinking a beer.

“Here, you look like a man who needs a beer,” Talat said as Atakan dragged another chair over.

“I need more than one.” Atakan took the bottle and sank dejected into the rickety chair.

“What’s the trouble? Ermine pregnant?”

The mere suggestion sent a shiver down Atakan’s spine. Both families would insist on marriage so the child wouldn’t be a bastard. Then, he’d insist on a divorce after the birth. Tears and yelling and recriminations would come from all sides. The whole scenario gave him a stomachache.

“No. If she is, it’s not mine. I take precautions.”

Between the Director and the Ermine suggestion, the kebab ignited in his stomach. It burned a path through his chest, up his throat and erupted in a series of foul-tasting burps. He took a large swig of beer to douse the flames.

“Why such a sour face when you were on the phone?”

“It was the Director.”

“Bad news?”

“Worse,” Atakan groaned. “My case has become a political concern of international interest.”

“Pislik herif.”

“To the second power.”

Chapter Fifty-Nine

Atakan propped his foot against the pistachio tree and leaned against the trunk. Watching Talat work his magic with the ladies was always good entertainment.

“Come, come,” Talat told Uma and Rachel. He wrapped an arm around each woman’s waist and stood them in front of the kitchen door. “I want a picture of the two loveliest ladies in camp.”

Talat posed them side-by-side. As he positioned each woman, he ran his hands down their arms first. In a subtle gesture, he finished by stroking his thumbs over their breasts. Giggling, the women took turns and returned the touchy-feely exchange and nowhere near his breasts.

Atakan looked on with admiration for Talat’s successful techniques. How he managed to induce the women to share him without jealousy was a feat discussed among the men, Refik and Atakan included. For his part, Talat shrugged off the coarse comments and questions.

Talat snapped several photos before his actual target emerged from the building. Uma and Rachel were instructed to remain in the same spot, while Talat shot them in rapid succession from different angles. Each shot recorded Damla at various angles behind them.

“Done,” Talat said, then declared with grand, dramatic flair. “Were I Zeus, I’d make you my personal goddesses.”

A major mistake.

Atakan shook with laughter, knowing the fallout to come.

An equally amused Charlotte waited for the debacle alongside him. “He hasn’t a clue.”

“No, poor fool.”

Rachel and Uma bracketed Talat, who remained blind to the hornet’s nest he stirred. He realized soon after. Both women pestered him to name which was his beautiful Aphrodite. Neither one was interested in becoming another great goddess.

He looked toward Atakan and Charlotte. The horror of the no-win dilemma he created on his stricken face.

The badgering continued non-stop. Talat stammered nonsensical responses. The women weren’t going for his panicked gibberish.

“Atakan,” Talat called out as Atakan and Charlotte began walking away. “A little help, please. I can use a wise opinion, objective and yet insightful.”

“The wisdom of Solomon you mean.” Atakan touched an insincere hand to his chest. “I’d love to help, but I do not possess the intellectual dexterity or the courage your problem requires. Best of luck, my friend. I’m due on the Suraya.” Atakan gave him the smallest of bows and hurried off, Talat calling his name.

They’d meet later alone in Refik’s office after Talat downloaded the pictures onto his laptop, provided he survived the female quicksand he stepped in.

#

“Good, very good.” Atakan sorted through the photos of Damla. He pointed to the ones most useful, two full face and a profile from each side. “Send these to my laptop. I’ll email the Director and ask he forward them to the Armenian NCB.”

“What’s the turnaround time?” Refik asked.

“They’re fast, forty-eight hours or less.”

Talat clicked on the selected pictures and sent them to Atakan. “What’s the plan once you have him identified?”

“Depends. The Director must stall their authorities if he’s wanted by them. We need to determine what the nature of his association with Ursula is before turning him over.”

“I’d like to be a spider on the wall when that negotiation is conducted,” Refik said.

“The Armenians will want some kind of trade-off,” Talat noted.

“That’s the Director’s problem.” Atakan said, without sympathy.

If Damla was a fugitive, the Armenians would squeeze Firat till his eyes popped. Atakan hoped they did. Between the Americans and the Armenians, Firat’s days would be spent in a Whirling Dervish routine of fawning and boot licking.

Talat minimized the screen. “You’re grinning,” he said to Atakan. “I suppose you still find humor in my predicament with Uma and Rachel.”

“No. I won’t lie, yes, that is amusing, but I was smiling at something else.”

The latest Cold Play song drifted through the window into Refik’s office. Atakan split the blinds with two fingers and peeked out.

“It’s Charlotte. She’s in a snarly mood because I told her she could not come in with me.”

Talat stepped next to Atakan and took a quick peek for himself. “Hah! Justice for abandoning me to Uma and Rachel’s inquisition. Neither is speaking to me or doing anything else with me now.”

Chapter Sixty

“About time,” Charlotte said as Atakan came out of Refik’s office. “I’ve got useful information for you. Not to brag but useful is an understatement.”

With Charlotte, the announcement could mean any number of things. “Please let it be another crazy connection to the Trojan War.”

“I almost said better than a war link, giving voice to the scuttling of my personal goal. I don’t buy into superstition. However,” she added, “some things shouldn’t be said aloud.”

“You believe in the evil eye?”

“No. I’m just saying I don’t want to jinx myself.”

The logic escaped him. He doubted asking for an explanation would help.

She patted the blanket next to her. “Sit.”

Atakan sat with his knees up and rested his back on the tree trunk. “Why is your music so loud?”

“I don’t want this overheard.”

“Charlotte, we have an agreement.”

“I have a possible lead. Do you want to hear it or not?”

On one level, Atakan was skeptical of the value of this information. He was also curious. She had shown him another way to view the puzzling pieces of the murders, even if he disagreed with her hypothesis.

“Tell me,” he said.

She looked around and said, “I know what Ursula wants.”

“What are you talking about?”

“What’d ‘ya think,” she rapped her knuckles lightly on his skull. “The seal,” she whispered.

“This is no surprise. If she intends on smuggling an artifact, I’m aware that’s what she’d take. My problem is proving theft is her intent.”

“Just listen. Remember she took photos of the seal with her cell. I kept wondering what she intended to do with them.”

“I dislike where this is going.”

“Shh, it gets better.” She ignored his groan. “I thought, maybe she made prints and is sending them to someone. I checked the outbound mail. She never mailed them. I rummaged through her drawer yesterday--”

“You didn’t. Charlotte--”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m disgusted with myself, but none the less, it was for the greater good. I found the prints in an envelope.”

“Tell me you didn’t steal them.”

“No, that would alert her. On the surface, it appears like no big deal, she made copies, so what, right? But, thinking outside the box, I kept coming back to why’d she take the pictures to begin with?”

“I wish you’d stop thinking.”

“You can carp or hear the rest. Take your pick.”

He gestured for her to go on, making circles with his hand like a traffic cop.

“You’d know if she sent them via phone to someone. What’s left? She emailed them.”

“You didn’t--”

“Ursula had her laptop out before her dive. Because it was already out, Uma asked to use it. Ursula said fine and left. I fiddled around on my computer while Uma did stuff on Ursula’s. Uma finished, closed it up, but didn’t log off.”

“You snooped into Ursula’s emails?”

Charlotte smiled and nodded. “I checked her sent file from the date she got the photos until today. I wasn’t horrible. I didn’t read her personal messages. I only checked for which one had JPEG pictures.”

“I take it you found them.”

“She sent them to Kryianos. I figured that would peak your interest.”

There were strict guidelines for the team regarding confidentiality of the results of their recovery work. Pictures of relics and hull sections were released to only those experts assisting MIAR. Nothing went to outside people without approval. Violations did occur. Those caught were dismissed and banned from working archaeological sites in Turkey.

Kryianos was known to the Ministry and other agencies as an alleged private collector. Ursula’s relationship with him nearly cost her assignment to the shipwreck project. After much discussion between MIAR and the Ministry, approval was granted. Kryianos had never been found guilty of dealing in stolen artifacts. Neither organization would hold her ties to him against her. Unlike the situation with Charlotte and Waterman, who had a history of black market purchases, the Ministry relented easier with Ursula. Because of Sun Bear’s contribution, MIAR urged the Ministry to give Charlotte approval also. The Ministry conditionally agreed after advising first Ekrem, then Atakan, to clarify what she knew about Waterman and what their exact status was.

The lack of evidence against Kryianos meant little to Atakan. He had no use for private collectors. Whether proof of wrong doing existed or not, he was firm in his conviction. None were innocent. The seal was the most valued find from the wreck so far. Atakan wouldn’t ignore the fact Ursula violated the rules and sent pictures of the seal to Kryianos.

“You have a copy of the email address,” he asked Charlotte.

Charlotte pulled a folded piece of paper from her short’s pocket and handed it to Atakan. “I worried she might delete the email if she thinks you suspect her. I sent it to my computer as a file and then deleted the sent message.”

“Is your laptop out and handy?”

“Yes.”

“Get your computer and meet me in Refik’s office.” Atakan stood and gave her a hand up.

Chapter Sixty-One

Charlotte came in as Atakan was telling Refik and Talat about Ursula’s emails. Her actions were questionable and a definite violation. His suspicions fell into a grey area and he wanted opinions. He asked Talat to bring the seal to the office while they discussed what to do about the situation.

Talat brought it from the secured container in the lab. The seal shared the locked box with the other three most prized artifacts, the diptych, the jeweled lion and the hinged amphora. The box with the four relics needed a special combination to open that only Refik, Atakan and Talat knew.

“Ideas?” Atakan asked as Talat laid the seal onto Refik’s desk.

“Above all else we must protect the seal,” Talat said.

Atakan corrected him. “No, above all else, I must find out who killed Ekrem and Heather. The seal is my second priority. As no clues are forthcoming regarding the murders, I’m concentrating on the seal.”

“Have you definitely established Ursula intends to steal the piece and send it to Kryianos?” Refik asked.

“No, but I am going to assume the worst.”

“How long will it take to serve a search warrant on the server she sent the email to?” Charlotte asked. “Who knows what else they discussed prior to the message I saw?”

“No warrant’s needed. Greek authorities will send me copies of their messages within hours.”

“In the States we call email, ‘evidence mail.’ I wonder why she’d use that system and not send the pix by cell phone.”

“Better copies off the computer is my guess,” Talat told her, lighting a cigarette.

Atakan was lost in thought. The dynamics of the case presented him with a couple of choices, neither good. After deliberating, he settled on the one he found most satisfactory. He put it out to the three.

“Here’s the problem. If this is a smuggling case, I need her to actually steal the seal in order to find out all the parties involved,” Atakan said. He knew how poorly the option would be received.

Refik stiffened, an appalled look on his face.

“Relax, I’m not suggesting we allow this. However, the risk factor is too great to leave the seal here. It must be removed to Ankara.”

“Why? If you have Ursula and Kryianos the risk is neutralized. MIAR isn’t done with it.”

“You know how these crimes work, Refik. It’s never simply two people.”

“It is insane,” Refik said.

The final decision rested with Atakan and the Ministry. Refik had input, but he’d co-operate with their decision no matter how distasteful. Atakan abhorred the idea of forcing Refik to agree.

“This isn’t an easy choice for me,” Atakan said in defense. “By removing the seal to a safer place, I am cutting the case off before I find the links in the black market chain.”

“Kryianos is rich. Maybe it is just the two of them,” Charlotte said.

“Trust my experience when I say the possibility is remote.”

“Again, this is predicated on the assumption the seal is a target, which is not a certainty,” Refik reminded Atakan.

“You know it’s the target.” Atakan held the golden cylinder in his palm, admiring the workmanship. “He’s a collector and seals are one of the most sought after items by his kind.”

There was a knock on the door and the camp cook cracked it open. “I thought you might like refreshments.”

The cook smiled at Refik who waved her in. She carried a tray with four glasses of tea and a bowl of fruit. Atakan stopped talking while she set the tray on the low table in front of the sofa.

Refik thanked her and she left. He gestured for the others to take a glass.

Charlotte and Talat each took one. Atakan left his on the tray. He wasn’t in the mood for tea. He didn’t appreciate Refik challenging his decision.

“No case has been brought against Kryianos for illegal acquisitions.” Refik crushed a lemon quarter over his tea. “Why remove the seal based on a slim hunch?”

Refik’s skepticism pricked at Atakan’s patience. “Let’s say I’m right. Why not act with excess of caution? I don’t understand your reluctance to let the seal go.”

“I know how the Ministry works,” Refik argued back. “Your agents escort it to Ankara. From there into a cellar it goes until who knows when. Finally, when some official arbitrarily decides, the government will allow the institute to claim proper credit.”

Atakan set the seal down onto the ivory cradle. “That is your worry, that MIAR won’t receive the credit in a timely manner?”

“Good press, public recognition, and respect within the profession translates to funding for us.”

“The global economy is killing us,” Talat interjected. “We need the European and American television producers to do stories on our work. Exposure is vital.”

“Enough!” Atakan slammed his palm on Refik’s desk. “Donations are not my concern. In the eyes of the Ministry, I alone am responsible for protecting the seal. And, I conduct my cases the way I see fit.”

Refik threw his hands up. Shaking his head, he turned away, a look of disgust on his face.

Talat blew smoke rings toward the floor.

Charlotte’s eyes met Atakan’s as she listened, her expression neutral and non-judgmental. Because of her family, he guessed she understood his position as an investigator.

He felt a twinge of remorse for losing his temper with his friends. “I have no choice, Refik. Over your displeasure and mine, I will do what I must.”

“Atakan, it is not my intent to fight you or the Ministry just to be contrary,” Refik said in a conciliatory tone.

“After I have the information on the emails, we’ll meet again. If the threat of theft exists, I must send the seal to Ankara. If not, we’ll discuss the matter. This is the best compromise I can offer.”

“That’s a terrible resolution,” Charlotte said, jumping in. “By your own admittance removing it screws up your smuggling case.”

“I know.” Atakan didn’t need the reminder. “I’m trying to be fair.” Laying a hand on Refik’s shoulder, he said, “If Ankara must take possession, I promise you, I’ll do all I can to have the seal released as soon as possible.”

“The Ministry has spoken. In the interim, I will store the piece in my private safe.”

Refik swiveled his chair around and opened a small safe that looked like a file cabinet. Then he removed a first aid kit from this desk and took a square of non-stick gauze pad the size of a man’s handkerchief from it. He wrapped the seal in the pad and placed the bundle into the safe, spun the dial and turned to face the group again.

“Now, we wait,” Refik said to Atakan.

Charlotte looked at the two of them. “This is crazy.”

Atakan didn’t want to hear her criticism.

“Charlotte--”

“Atakan, this is a lose-lose deal. Refik doesn’t get the press they need. You don’t get the smugglers. You’re all treating this as a one or the other situation, risk the real seal or risk solving the case,” she continued.

“You have a better suggestion?”

“I do. If, and here’s the fly in the ointment, if we’ve got the time to work.”

“What’s your idea?” She had Atakan’s interest.

“Make a fake, a decoy seal. One of you has to know an artisan who can make a replica.”

Atakan hadn’t considered that option. The Ministry frowned on replicas of valued relics floating around. Firat and the Minister himself thought the practice a slippery slope. Atakan agreed with the philosophy. But this case might be an exception since it may lead to an arrest.

He knew a brilliant forger. Unfortunately, the man was in prison. He put him there. He didn’t think the Director would approve his using a convict to do exactly what he’d arrested the man for.

“I know someone,” Refik said, “a friend, a jeweler in Bodrum near the old castle. He creates all his own pieces. His workmanship is beautiful. Should we try this?” he asked Atakan.

“How soon can we get him here?”

Refik pulled a business card from his wallet. “Let me call him and explain what we need. Charlotte, he’ll want to see the piece,” he said, pressing the shop’s number out on his cell as he read the card. “I’ll get his email and you send him the views of the seal on your computer.”

“Ready when you are.” She brought the thumbnails back up on her screen.

Refik exchanged a few pleasantries with the man. From the tone on his end of the conversation, they’d been acquainted for some time. Refik told him he had an urgent matter and needed an artifact replicated immediately. He didn’t go into detail as to why or that it involved a Ministry case.

“Send the pictures,” Refik told Charlotte.

Refik stayed on the line while the jeweler appraised the work and time it might entail.

“He says he can do the job, but he’ll have to close his shop, which is a costly proposition for him,” Refik told Atakan.

“Tell him, we’ll give him five thousand Lira.”

Refik asked the jeweler to hold on and covered the phone with his hand. “Atakan, it is tourist season.”

Atakan spread his hands in a “so what” gesture.

“A cruise ship comes tomorrow. It’s a good day for sales,” Refik said.

“I understand. Offer him seven thousand Lira plus whatever more he deems fit for his services...if we approve of the work.”

Refik told the jeweler the offer. “He agrees.”

“How soon can he be here?” Atakan asked. “And how long will it take to complete?”

“Three days if we let him do the work at his studio.”

Not what Atakan wanted to hear. He thought when the man said he’d close his shop he planned on coming to the camp. “Tell him to hold on for a minute. I have to think about this first.”

Atakan moved to the window, opened the blinds and gazed out at the scientist divers going about their work. They had no idea about the situation going on inside Refik’s office. He envied them that ignorance. If the emails between Kryianos and Ursula were innocuous, it didn’t mean their intentions were innocent. If the seal was left here and she managed to steal it, he’d be severely disciplined. If he let it be removed to the jewelers and it was stolen, he’d be transferred from the investigative unit, permanently. If he sent it to Ankara, he’d never know what Ursula and Kryianos were up to. He hated the thought. In his gut, he knew something was going on with them.

“Kharestin,” he mumbled, analyzing his choices.

Shutting the blinds, he returned to his chair. “If I agree to its removal to Bodrum, one of you must accompany the piece.” His eyes shifted from Refik to Talat.

“I will go,” Talat volunteered.

“I’m ordering you to stay with him the entire time it’s in his possession,” Atakan warned. “There can be no deviation from my command. No hotel room for you. No cafes. You must sleep and eat in the studio.”

“Understood.”

“Tell him he has two days in his studio, but the final day he’ll spend here.”

Refik relayed the message.

“He’s to complete the exterior design work in Bodrum. Before he finishes the entire piece bring him here,” he instructed Talat. “I’m attaching a GPS tracking device to the interior.”

Refik repeated the order then disconnected. “He said he’ll have to work well into the night to accomplish so much in two days, but he agrees.”

“Good.”

“I’d like your permission to retain the real piece in my safe once we have the decoy?” Refik asked.

“Yes, I will handle any objections from the Director.”

Atakan turned to Charlotte and raised his glass. “To you.”

They all drank to her.

“I told you I know stuff.”

He groaned silently. In Charlotte speak, it meant another discussion was forthcoming.

Everything has a price.

He’d have to find a stronger drink later.

Chapter Sixty-Two

Charlotte gazed at the night sky. Flecks of white blanketed the black in every direction. It was a massive, celestial spill of sugar granules. Earlier, Gerard, the team’s amateur astronomer, had pointed out several constellations to her. He traced their patterns with his finger. Other than the Big Dipper, she still couldn’t identify any. Somehow the ancient sailors managed to navigate by them.

Atakan joined her on the camp’s dock.

“Anything?” she asked.

“Nothing worthwhile.”

“Too bad. How far back did you go?”

“I spent the last couple of hours skimming her emails for the past year.” Atakan opened a beer he brought with him.

“I take she didn’t say anything of interest in her emails to Kryianos.”

“General conversation, days and times to meet, plans, a mention occasionally of the project progress,” he said, taking a swig of the beer.

“You’ve listened to her calls. Anything there?”

“No.”

“What’s the plan since she violated project rules with the photos?”

“Ignore it. She doesn’t know we know. I wait and watch. She’ll screw up soon.”

Chapter Sixty-Four

“Hi,” Charlotte said as she passed Ursula.

Ursula stood reading the schedule and talking on her cell phone. She turned and snapped her phone shut, cutting off whoever was on the other end.

“I didn’t see you approach,” Ursula said.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt. Shuttle’s here, if you’re diving next.”

“I’d better go.” Ursula fingered the lid of her phone and stayed where she was.

Charlotte continued to the women’s quarters suspicious of Ursula’s odd behavior. Normally, she left the cell behind. After entering the dorm, Charlotte hid at the edge of the doorway where Ursula couldn’t see her. She watched her, curious if she’d go straight to the dock, or maybe call Damla for a quick meet first.

Ursula did neither. She read the posted schedule then walked to the lab. She peered inside from the front and then went to the far side and peered in from that angle. She returned to the front and entered.

Charlotte’s curiosity spiked. The flaps of the lab tent were tacked up. She tried to see in, but the shadows darkened the interior too much. She couldn’t tell if anyone was working in there when Ursula entered. She was tempted to walk in on Ursula and surprise her at whatever she was up to.

Charlotte stepped out the door of the dorm intent on doing that when the screen door to the lab opened. With no time to rush back inside, she dashed to the corner of the building and out of Ursula’s line of sight.

Ursula’s attention was focused on her cell phone. She moved to a shady spot under a tree and scrolled through whatever information was on her screen. She punched in a number. The conversation was short. After ending the call, she dialed again. She listened for a few seconds and then took the phone from her ear and scrolled through the touch screen display. She quickly found what she searched for and sent the contents. When she finished, she placed another call and had a brief conversation. She closed the phone and walked toward the dock.

She hadn’t texted and hadn’t talked during that second call. Had she sent the pictures? Atakan would know.

Charlotte waited until Ursula hopped into the shuttle before she went to the men’s living quarters and knocked.

“Atakan, can I come in?”

“Not yet,” Gerard called out to her. “Give me a minute.”

She stood with her back to the screen door while he dressed.

“Hi Charlotte,” Gerard said, stepping outside.

“Hi.”

“Go on in, Atakan’s alone.”

Inside, Atakan sat on the side of his bed with his phone to his ear. He raised his hand to her and put a finger to his lips.

She joined him on the bed while he listened. He stared at the floor the entire time the call lasted. He hit “end”, set the phone down. He stayed quiet for a few seconds before he finally looked up, turning to her.

Something was wrong. Charlotte had seen many emotions in his eyes over their weeks together, humor, anger, pensiveness, even a touch of melancholy when he spoke of the ancient sailors. This was the first time she saw serious worry and fear. “Atakan, are you all right?”

“Charlotte--” He said her name in way that could only mean bad news.

“What’s going on?”

He hesitated.

“Whatever it is just tell me.”

“Ursula called Kryianos a short time ago. She sent him pictures of the lock. The strategy of switching to a substandard one worked.”

“This is the break you needed.”

“Let me finish. She asked about you.”

“Me?”

“They plan to make the theft look like you did it.”

“How?”

“Kryianos is sending someone after you, if not Damla, someone like him. He mentioned a contact in Istanbul. If you disappear at the same time as the seal, suspicion falls on you.”

“You’d know I didn’t do it.”

“That’s not the point. The point is you’re in danger. I can’t allow it. I’m sending you away.”

“I can’t leave. Whoever is coming for me, maybe Damla, maybe not, means other players are involved. To make your case things here have to stay status quo. If you relocate me, they’ll abort their plan.”

Atakan took both her wrists in his hands.

“I can see your mind spinning. Do not play detective. You must leave. Go to Bodrum where you’ll be safe while the situation is resolved.”

It was the same knee jerk reaction Nick would have. Going to Bodrum was out of the question. It screwed up his case and her plans. Any day the team would gain entry to the recessed hold. If she left, she’d miss her chance to be part of the exploration. Getting in there was a make or break opportunity for her theory. She had to stay.

Yes, there was a risk factor. Atakan wasn’t taking in the whole picture though. The camp was never empty of people. If someone made an attempt to snatch her, one scream would bring help. The Suraya was secure. They couldn’t sneak onto the boat unnoticed. Where or how could they get to her?

“Atakan, do me the courtesy of talking this out.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

She ignored the comment and went on with her train of thought. “Kryianos only refers to the man here and in Istanbul as a ‘contact.’ It’s also possible he doesn’t know their names.”

“Collectors work with independent groups. They often employ an anonymous syndicate of men who do the dirty work in smuggling.”

“Right,” she said, thinking his unit used standard flow charts tracking illegal operations. “Give me a moment.”

Atakan let her brainstorm. She took that as a good sign. Charlotte continued before he changed his mind.

“Clearly, this is a sophisticated ring. Arresting Kryianos is still a shot in the dark. You might not discover who else is involved. He doesn’t have to tell you, even if he knows.”

“True. Communications between the facilitators and collectors is usually limited. The syndicate operatives keep identities to a minimum, not unlike the system used by terrorist cells.”

“If I leave, your avenue into that syndicate closes.”

“You will not act as bait. I refuse to allow it.”

Charlotte explained how safe she was in camp and on the Suraya. “I can’t miss the chance to explore the rest of the hold,” she said. “Atakan, you can’t deny me my possible proof. You know how important this wreck is to me.”

“No,” he repeated. “You will go.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Charlotte, I ask you to reconsider, please, for my peace of mind.”

“I’m surrounded by people. These syndicate guys aren’t going to rappel in and take me from my bed.”

“I can have you deported you know.”

“I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“If you’re deported, you’ll never be able to enter Turkey again. Did you know that?”

He wouldn’t deport her. She knew it, and he knew she knew.

“I’m staying.”

“You’re the most difficult woman I’ve ever met.”

His threats and objections had failed. “I am giving in with great reluctance. However, I do make one demand. I want a promise. You’ll swear on your father’s honor to keep this promise--”

“What about my honor?”

“The honor of a recalcitrant, stubborn woman who believes in fictional characters.”

“Hey.”

“Swear on your father’s honor while you are here, you will never leave camp alone, never. Speak to no one you don’t recognize, no villager, no boatman, not even a strange woman.”

“I swear.”

“Tell your family the situation. If you were my sister, I’d wish to be advised.”

“I’m not your sister.” She’d rather he thought of her more as a friend than a sister.

“Call your family.”

“That’s the worst thing I could do. They’d all be on the next plane to Turkey, both sets of parents and Nick. It’d be a boondoggle on a major scale. When this is over, I’ll tell them.”

“Charlotte...”

“I’m not afraid.”

He gripped her by the upper arms, like he wanted to shake her. “I don’t know what to do with you. You make me insane.”

He took a deep breath, sighed, and dropped his hands. “Ekrem was my good friend. I feel the pain of his absence all the time.” Touching a palm to her cheek, he said, “If you are hurt or worse, the loss to me is no less.”

The admission was unexpected and although she disliked the adjective...she thought it sweet. “Atakan--”

He put a finger to her lips. “You needed to know.”

Chapter Sixty-Five

Selimiye near Bozburun

Maksym flipped the air conditioner on the car to high. The woman at the rental agency, a homely creature with a mustache, tried to talk him into a Jaguar. He declined, choosing the plain Alfa Romeo sedan instead. At the same time, he reserved a Citroen for Damla to pick up, paying cash for both vehicles.

Damla was due any time now. They agreed to meet at the rundown BP gas station off the main road. The fewer people who saw Maksym, the better. Dashiell told Kryianos’s woman the Greek investigators suspected him in Ekrem’s killing. The Turkish authorities, advised of the connection, would hunt for him harder than the Greeks. One stay in their prisons left a man changed forever, including him. He couldn’t risk a chance sighting by the Turks.

Maksym hummed along to the Violent Femmes song, Color Me Once, preening at himself in the rearview mirror. A black car entered his peripheral vision. He glanced sideways then pulled out the ear buds from his MP3 player.

Damla climbed out of the Citroen and into the passenger seat of the Alfa.

“You have the phone?”

Damla handed Maksym the Thuraya phone identical to Atakan’s that contained the pirated DRC information.

“This is the code.” Damla punched the four digit number. “All the transmissions from Vadim’s phone will play back.

“Perfect.”

“Everything else is set.” Damla turned the dashboard vent so the air blew into his face. “Ursula tested the key I had made. The lock opened like a whore’s legs. Where do we hand the package off and who’s the contact?”

“Enter the Spice Market from the waterside. Go straight through the intersection of the two main avenues. Fifteen meters on the left is Sirkeci Luggage, Tomko will be waiting inside.”

“What about the woman?”

“Once she’s given Tomko the package, she yours. Kryianos has no use for her.”

“And, the Dashiell woman?”

Maksym smiled. “I am taking care of her personally.”

Chapter Sixty-Six

Marmaris

Atakan updated the Director after his talk with Charlotte. In his email, Atakan requested two backup teams from his unit. Firat flew the investigators out the same afternoon.

Atakan met them in Marmaris to discuss deployment. He split up the first team. They’d keep the Izmir and Marmaris Airports under surveillance. The airlines operating the shuttles to Istanbul were instructed to hold one seat empty for a Ministry agent on every flight.

He kept the second team, the men he worked with most often, Iskender and Halim, with him.

“Refik arranged for you to stay in the camp. He’ll introduce you to his crew as pottery reconstruction experts,” Atakan explained.

“We have the equipment you wanted and rented a car. Is there a location nearby we can garage it?” Iskender asked.

“A second vehicle is needed. We’ll get one here. There’s a closed olive factory at the edge of the village we can use.”

Atakan chose a nondescript tan Peugeot for Halim. If Ursula and Damla drove to Istanbul, the car blended in with traffic and made a good tail vehicle. At the right time, Halim would break off and a fixed wing airplane would take over as a spotter.

In addition to the spotter plane, Atakan requested a helicopter to standby at Milas Airport. Whether Ursula and Damla took a commercial flight or drove, Halim, Iskender, and Atakan would take the helicopter and arrive ahead of them.

#

Atakan’s eyes snapped open on the first beep. As he expected, Ursula waited until her free day with no dives to act. He, Halim, and Iskender slept in jeans and tee shirts, ready to track her from the minute she left camp with the replica seal.

Halim and Iskender awoke with the signal too and were up and putting shoes and gun belts on as fast as Atakan. Atakan doubted there’d be a confrontation at this stage of the operation. They armed themselves just in case. They all carried the government issued Akdal Ghost TR-01, semi-automatic with extra magazines.

Atakan turned his transmitter to mute while the flashing green light continued to indicate the seal’s location. They each grabbed their gear bags with the additional equipment. Atakan took the case with the GPS monitor and transmitter for the tracking device. The team silently slipped out of the men’s quarters.

Pre-dawn darkness covered their movements as they shadowed Ursula. Atakan used hand signals and directed Halim to swing wide to the right flank of the camp, next to the hillside. If a car waited for her anywhere in the vicinity, Halim knew to ready his vehicle and follow. Atakan and Iskender would stay in communication and catch up.

Damla waited for Ursula on the paved road that led out to the main highway. A Citroen, the motor running with only the fog lamps lit was parked behind him. They had a brief conversation before getting into the car.

Atakan cursed the delay as he and Iskender were forced to stay hidden while Ursula showed Damla the seal under the car’s interior dome light.

On the dirt street that ran perpendicular to the paved road, the nose of Halim’s blacked out Peugeot eased forward.

Damla and Ursula didn’t look as they drove away.

Halim exited the garage and gave the Citroen a head start before turning onto the road behind it.

Atakan and Iskender ran to their vehicle and drove the same direction, ready to back Halim if Damla noticed the tail. Atakan pulled the portable radio from his gear bag and turned it to the secured frequency. He kept the GPS monitor on his lap, watching the screen as Iskender drove. If for some reason, Damla and Ursula split up, he and Iskender would follow the seal. Halim would stay with the car.

“What’s your distance?” Atakan asked Halim.

“Twelve hundred meters.”

“Sounds too far. With the empty road, it will have to do.”

Atakan notified the Director of their status. Firat said he’d have both the fixed wing and the helicopter pilots ready. Atakan told him he’d know in the next thirty minutes if Damla and Ursula were headed for an airport or driving. He also requested Firat contact the men assigned to the airport details to standby for further instructions. The men knew to switch to the designated frequency once they were mobile.

“Izmir,” Atakan and Halim said at once when the Citroen exited onto the highway for that city.

Atakan raised the pilot for the spotter plane on the air. “How long until you are wheels up?”

“I am on the runway now. Give me their last co-ordinates, travel speed and a description of the vehicle.”

Atakan relayed the information and waited for the pilot to acknowledge.

“I should be over them in approximately ten minutes. I will confirm once I have them in my sight.”

Atakan acknowledged, and then told Halim, “As soon as he has them, break off the tail and meet us at Milas Airport.” He radioed Cengis who was on site at Marmaris Airport. “They’re flying out of Izmir. Take the next shuttle and meet us at the command post.”

Iskender had scouted locations for the Command Post before flying down to Bozburun. He’d chosen the top floor of an abandoned school on Tahtakale Caddesi. The old brick building overlooked the Spice Market and narrow streets around it on three sides. Another Ministry team at ground level would cover the fourth side and ferry terminals.

Firat came on the radio. “Surveillance cameras are in place. I also ordered the Istanbul Police to stay away from the immediate area.”

“Hakim, Iskender, and I will be on board the helicopter in thirty minutes.”

“Atakan, I do not have to remind you how crowded the Misir Casisi is with civilians. Make this a clean operation,” Firat said. “I do not want negative tourist’s chatter on Yahoo Trip Advisor about dangerous criminals in one of our most visited attractions.”

“Yes, I’m aware.”

Firat went off the air.

Chapter Sixty-Seven

Charlotte searched and couldn’t find Atakan. The schedule showed her diving with Gerard again. Atakan and the “pottery experts” had stayed in camp for the last two days. Refik assigned them lab work while they waited for Ursula to make her move. Charlotte wanted to see if Atakan and the “experts” would like to have breakfast together before she had to leave. She went to Refik’s office to ask if he knew where Atakan was.

She knocked. “Refik?”

“Come in.”

Refik had the steel box with the broken lock and its relics on his desk. He was bent trying to arrange room in his office safe for the added artifacts.

Charlotte walked to the desk and fingered the broken lock. “Ursula’s work?”

“Yes. Atakan and his agents are in pursuit of her now.”

“Is Damla with her?”

“I don’t know. Atakan, the agents, and Ursula were already gone when I awoke. He had the Director call early and inform me of the circumstance.”

Guilt swamped Charlotte. She meant to tell Atakan she was as worried for his safety as he was hers. She meant to tell him be careful, don’t take unnecessary risks. Nick’s SWAT escapades were bad enough to deal with. The time never seemed right to tell Atakan. A pathetic excuse.

“Hand me the pieces, please,” Refik said.

Charlotte gave him the larger diptych first then the smaller pieces. Refik worked on his hands and knees wedging them into the safe.

Shouts and yells came from all sides of the camp as Talat threw open the office door. “Fire.”

Refik hurried to shut the safe. The three rushed from the office.

The backside of the kitchen and dining hall was an inferno. Fire consumed the framing posts and spread to the plywood walls. The summer sun had dried the inexpensive wood they used for the construction of all the buildings, making the supports like matchsticks. Where the fire had broken through the walls, flames were sucked inside and started to engulf the tables and chairs. The grass matting used for the roof was next.

The west wind blew sparks in the direction of the lab. They could lose the entire camp, but not the lab, not the artifacts.

By a stroke of luck, the Suraya was still docked and everyone was in camp. They broke up into groups. One brought stored water from different parts of the compound. The others formed fire lines, passing buckets of water hand-over-hand, dousing the flames. Rachel ran to the village where the locals kept a water truck filled for fire emergencies.

Charlotte and Uma dragged a water barrel that normally served to fill desalination tanks.

“The lab,” Uma yelled as they ran back for the second barrel.

Embers caught in the breeze had begun to land on the canvas roof. Charlotte shouted for Talat and Gerard. The two men took over handling the second water barrel. Charlotte and Uma ran to the lab and began moving cabinets and tanks of artifacts out to the open area of the camp.

“Dump the water tank for the showers,” Refik ordered, taking Charlotte’s place.

She nodded and grabbed an empty barrel from the fire line and ran with it to the showers. She positioned it against the back of the shower stall and started climbing the steps. Metal clamps on the side fastened the tank to crossbeam posts. Once the clamps were unhooked, she’d turn the tank and unscrew the top to let the water run into the barrel.

A loud whoosh came from the kitchen and a tall, black plume of smoke shot skyward. The roof was aflame.

She hesitated midway on the stairs at the sight.

A man’s large hand covered her mouth. His other hand brandished a gun.

With the cold barrel to her ear, he walked her backwards down the few steps to the ground.

“Don’t scream.”

Little-by-little his palm came away from her mouth.

She screamed and tried to break and run. She spun as he caught her by the arm and backhanded her across the cheek with a closed fist. Dazed, she staggered but stayed on her feet.

A second man wrapped his forearm around her throat and covered her mouth with his other hand.

Tischenko stepped in front of her. “Your screams won’t be heard. As you can see and hear...” He gestured to the burning kitchen. “Folks are busy elsewhere.”

The second man’s fleshy fingers forced her lips apart and pressed against her teeth. She managed to part her teeth the fraction she needed and bit down hard, drawing blood. He jerked his hand from her mouth but not his arm from her throat. He tightened the choke hold, cutting off most of the air to her lungs. Screaming was impossible.

Long ago, Nick told her, “If the only weapon you have is your body, then you make every move count.” He showed her good pain points to strike.

She stomped her heel down on the man’s foot. He relaxed the pressure on her throat. The distraction enabled her to wedge her hands under the man’s forearm. She pushed with all her strength to loosen his hold.

Tischenko backhanded her again. Stars filled her vision then faded.

“You recognize me?” Tischenko asked.

She nodded.

“I will tell my associate to let you speak if you do not try to scream.”

She opened her mouth ready to scream again.

“If you disobey, I will have Atakan tortured.”

The mention of Atakan stunned Charlotte into silence. Tischenko had Atakan? How? She knew he’d left with two other agents. Tischenko overpowered all three? She didn’t believe him.

“Liar,” she rasped.

“Bring her,” Tischenko told the man holding her. Tischenko covered the rocky path on the camp’s edge in several long strides. Her captor half carried, half dragged her along as she fought to break free.

Tischenko stopped behind a clump of trees between the rear of the living quarters and the cove.

“You can continue to fight or come along like a good girl.”

Charlotte’s father always said; never go willing with a kidnapper. Never. You’re better off forcing his hand there and then. He might kill you. He might not. But, if you go with him, you’re dead. In all likelihood, you’ll be tortured for hours or even days before he kills you. Go down fighting first.

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Then I’ll kill your lover slowly. I’ll record his screams for you to hear. I’ll record him begging for death.”

Tischenko pulled a hunting knife from a calf pocket on his cargo pants and unsheathed it. He stood in front of her and put the tip of the blade to the corner of her eye.

“First I will take his eyes so he cannot see what torture is next, only anticipate it. Then,” Tischenko moved the knife to the first knuckle of her forefinger. “I will snip his fingers off.” He slid the blade across her finger, lightly, just enough to draw a thin line of blood. “One knuckle at a time.”

Charlotte’s body tensed and she clamped her teeth together. She concentrated on him, not on the sharp pain.

He moved to her second knuckle. “If he were to live, which he won’t, he wouldn’t be able to wipe his ass,” he said, chuckling.

She couldn’t contain her fear. It controlled her breathing which came in short, rapid pants. She winced, but refused to look away. She wouldn’t give him the additional victory of seeing her terror as he made another light slice.

“Next, I will castrate him, one ball, then the other, then a final whack and he is a woman. In the end, I will disembowel him and lay his intestines on his chest. You’d be surprised how long you can live with your guts spilled.”

A wave of nausea came and went with the picture he painted.

“I don’t believe you. You don’t have Atakan,” she challenged, trying not to sound terrified.

He sheathed the knife and shoved it back into his pocket. From his shirt pocket, he took out a Thuraya cell phone.

“Atakan’s phone,” he said, showing her the face.

“Bullshit, anyone can order that phone on the internet.”

“Such belligerence. I’m going to enjoy breaking you. This is Atakan’s security code.” Tischenko punched in a four digit sequence that was Damla’s code.

Charlotte racked her brain to remember if Atakan used a security code when he made calls. She hadn’t paid attention.

Tischenko put the phone near her ear.

She listened as Atakan talked to the Director. On another he spoke to someone at the Ministry about a report. Tischenko let her listen to call after call.

He has Atakan. She felt ill again.

“You’ll kill him, whether I go or not.” If he denied it, she’d know he was lying.

“True. Come, and I’ll let him keep his eyes and manhood.”

She had to go. If nothing else, it bought Atakan more time. If he wasn’t incapacitated, maybe, just maybe, she and Atakan could find a way to escape.

“I’ll go.”

Chapter Sixty-Eight

Istanbul

Atakan issued orders as he watched on the surveillance cameras. Ursula and Damla entered the luggage store and met with Kryianos’s contact. At his command, Atakan’s unit had swept in and taken everyone inside into custody. In a co-ordinated effort, the Greek authorities raided Kryianos’s home and office at the same time.

The suspects from the luggage shop were brought to the command post. There, they’d been separated and placed in different rooms for interrogation. Atakan’s men were questioning all but Ursula and Damla. Those interrogations he’d conduct himself. He started with Ursula.

“She’s useless,” he said in disgust, closing the door to the room. “She only knows Kryianos and Abassian, who she refers to as Damla. The identity of the other contacts were kept from her.”

Atakan poured a cup of strong coffee. He wanted the caffeine boost for his interrogation of Abassian.

Iskender hung up the field phone. “More bad news,” he said, tossing his note pad on the desk.

“Tell me,” Atakan said.

“Kryianos is dead. Someone else was watching from another location here, someone we missed. He must’ve got word to Kryianos immediately. When the Greek team went in to arrest him, they found he’d hung himself.”

“Who did we miss? How? We had cameras everywhere.”

“It’s the market, Atakan. It could’ve been any of a dozen merchants or delivery men,” Cengis said.

Atakan hit rewind on all the surveillance screens. He slumped in his chair ready to replay the tapes, hunting for the suspect he hadn’t seen.

The desk phone rang and Iskender answered. He listened for a few seconds then turned to Atakan. “It’s Firat.”

Atakan changed chairs with Iskender and took the receiver from him.

“Yes, Director.”

“I am putting this through as a conference call. I have Refik Mahir on the line.”

Refik wasted no words. “Charlotte is missing. We’ve searched--”

“How?” Atakan demanded, furious with his friend. Refik and Talat failed. There was no excuse. “She was never to be out of your or Talat’s sight. You knew the danger.”

“We did, and she wasn’t. But this morning a terrible fire started in the kitchen. It went up like a torch. We all rushed to contain the fire so it wouldn’t engulf the entire camp. She was by my side.”

“A fire?”

“It was madness. You can imagine the chaos.”

“That doesn’t explain how you let her out of your sight. One of you should’ve stayed with her, no matter the trouble.”

“I did. I had her in sight as she and Uma hauled water barrels. Then the fire spread to the lab. Uma and I worked to save the artifacts while Charlotte ran to empty the shower’s tank. She was only alone for a few minutes.”

Refik covered the receiver as he suffered a coughing fit.

“The fire was a diversion,” Atakan said.

“Yes. It was arson. We didn’t know at the time, of course. We’ve since found two separate points of origin. Atakan, I only took my eyes off her for--”

“How long has she been gone?”

“Two hours at least, maybe more. We don’t know how long she was gone before we noticed.”

“I must go. Abassian knows where she is, and he will tell me.”

The Director quickly responded. “Stay on the line, Atakan.”

Firat told Refik he’d call him later and disconnected the conference feature. “I’ll speak to you in a moment,” he told Atakan and put him on hold. He came back on the line a couple of minutes later.

“You will not question him. You are too close to the situation.”

“I--”

“Quiet. Listen to me, Atakan. I just sent for two interrogators from our military base near the airport. They’ll be there shortly. You are not to step foot in that interrogation room. These men are experts. Trust me. Abassian will talk.”

“Director, I ask you, please let me do this.”

“No. For your sake, let them do their job.”

“Yes sir.”

Atakan pinched the bridge of his nose hard, trying to stem off the building headache.

“Don’t hang up yet, Atakan.”

“I’m here.”

“I want you to turn the remainder of the operation over to Iskender.”

“Director Firat, please--”

“Atakan, you cannot lead the operation for the same reasons you cannot interrogate Abassian.”

A stabbing pain throbbed behind his eyes. The pain would spread soon. Atakan pressed his fingertips to his lids and focused on persuading Firat to change his mind. Any show of antagonism or passion would convince the Director he was right to relieve him of leadership.

“Sir, I ask you to consider my excellent performance record before you make this decision.”

“Atakan, your record is impeccable, but you have an emotional attachment to the Dashiell woman. Emotions affect actions. Judgment, the ability to critically think through a problem is too easily influenced. Unfortunately, it is to the detriment of the operation. This is not personal. I’d say the same to any investigator in your position.”

“Sir, Ekrem was as a brother to me. You knew this and allowed me to work his case. You trusted me to handle it in a rational, objective manner. Which I have. I ask you to extend that trust to me regarding this situation. Please.”

“I don’t know. I have strong doubts.”

“Please.”

The silence on the Director’s end stretched. If he hadn’t heard Firat breathing, Atakan would’ve thought the man hung up.

At last, the Director said, “You’ve done well on this smuggling case. I appreciate your diligence under difficult circumstances with Ekrem’s investigation. For those reasons, I’ll allow you to remain as the team leader.”

“Thank you.”

“Do not make me regret my decision.”

The Director disconnected and Atakan dropped the phone in to the cradle. He checked his watch. If the interrogators didn’t arrive in fifteen minutes, he’d do whatever necessary to make Abassian talk. Many efficient methods left no visible mark.

#

The interrogators arrived under his time limit. When the Director said he’d send men from the base, every man in the room understood who he meant. They’d be officers from the Military Intelligence Unit. Atakan’s father worked that special branch of the military early in his career. Unlike his tall, burly father, these men were the new breed of M.I. officer. Average height and weight, close cropped hair, clean shaven, in public they resembled thousands of other men in their middle thirties. They dressed in casual clothes, jeans and knit shirts, rather than uniforms. They wore no name tags or other identifiers.

Atakan didn’t care what their names were.

“What’s the status on the prisoner?” The second interrogator asked. “Any leverage?”

“He used the name Basri Damla, but his true name is Garabed Abassian. He’s an Armenian national. They want him for trafficking in drugs and women,” Atakan said. “That’s if we turn him over.”

“Can you tie him to the murder of your investigator?”

“No.”

“You only have the smuggling and conspiracy charge?”

“Yes.”

“We can work that angle. He gives us something useful and we keep him. He does five years in prison here. Or, we extradite him and he does fifteen years in one of their labor camps. Good.”

The first officer asked, “Anything else?”

Atakan handed him a file. “His parents are alive. Their pictures are inside.”

The interrogator took the file and opened it, studying the photo of the elderly couple. “Every man loves his mother. It would be a pity to see the old woman detained by the Armenian police over her son’s activities.”

“Unless we speak to them on his parents behalf,” Iskender added.

The meaning was clear. Unless someone of authority or an agency interceded, the parents would be taken from their home. They’d be brought to a police station and placed in a room where Abassian could witness them relentlessly questioned. He’d watch as they’d force his mother to tears. He’d watch his father plead ignorance of his son’s activities. His father would plead for the police to let his wife go. Generally, the system inspired prisoners to co-operate rather than see their family tormented further.

The officer closed the file. “We have what we need. Show us the room.”

Atakan pulled a pair of surgical gloves from his gear bag and held them out to the interrogator. “In case he doesn’t love his mother as much as he should.”

“No thanks.” He tugged a pair from his rear pocket. “We brought our own.”

#

An hour dragged by. The room was a furnace. Sweat dripped down Atakan’s hairline and the back of his neck. The room reeked of bitter, old coffee.

“Halim, it’s stifling in here. Turn the air conditioner on and shut off the coffee pot.”

“The air is on, Atakan,” Halim said. He walked over to the table with the coffee and tea makings. “The pot is off.”

Atakan grunted and checked his watch. They were into the second hour when the lead interrogator came back into the room.

“She’s at Maksym Tischenko’s compound in the forest twenty kilometers northwest of Sevastopol.” He peeled the surgical gloves off and dumped them into the trash. The knuckles of his right hand were noticeably red and swollen as he pulled a folded paper from his waistband. “Abassian drew a map of the location.”

Atakan spread the map across the desk. Iskender, Halim and Cengis joined them.

“He lined in the area surrounding the compound and indicates no other towns or structures close.”

“Do you believe this is accurate?” Atakan asked.

“Yes.”

“How did Tischenko enter the country? We’ve monitored the airports and ferry terminals.”

“Boat.”

The method seemed so obvious now. Atakan shook his head. The government didn’t have an effective system to prevent every boat from landing. The coastline near Bozburun covered a large area and was dominated by rough terrain. Watching it wasn’t feasible. That particular stretch of land was riddled with inlets and coves and made for easy access.

“Abassian said Tischenko knew returning to Sevastopol was easier than the Bozburun landing. Once he’s in open water, there are a thousand pleasure boats between the peninsula and the Black Sea.”

A thousand pleasure boats was an underestimate. As a matter of procedure Atakan updated Firat. The Director would notify the Turkish Navy and Hellenistic Coast Guard, on the off chance the boat might get stopped. But, the odds were against them. “About this compound, did he say how many men Tischenko keeps with him there?” Iskender asked.

“Abassian wasn’t sure. He said Tischenko has a small core of men he likes to use. His best guess was between six and ten.”

“I need a flyover with thermal imaging to give us a better number. Can you do this?” Atakan asked the officer.

“No, it’s best to use a reconnaissance plane. It has the altitude you need. Our base doesn’t house that type of aircraft.”

“Who does?”

The second officer had quietly come in and rid himself of his gloves. He joined the first man at the map.

“The Americans,” Cengis said, jumping in. “Phone please.”

Atakan slid the phone over to him.

“I happen to know the commanding officer at Incirlik, the American Airbase.” Cengis sat on the edge of the desk to make the call. “They’ll have a P3 plane fueled and ready before you can spit three times,” he said, smiling.

Incirlik was a long distance to bring a plane when time was critical, Atakan thought. He worried about the additional delay if the Americans said no.

“This commander, do you think he’ll agree without argument?”

“Please, the Americans live for this craziness. It is the ultimate X-Box game for them.”

Chapter Sixty-Nine

Bozburun

Tischenko’s men tied Charlotte’s hands behind her back and helped her onto the boat. The rope cutoff her circulation. Unarmed, and with nowhere to run, the tight restraint was excessive. Payback for the earlier bite.

Another man, already on the boat put a black, rough wool bag over her head. He led her down the narrow stairs to the deck below. At the bottom of the stairs, she took a few blind, tentative steps forward when he shoved her. She landed sideways on a cold leather seat cushion. She used the limited ability she had with her hands to push herself upright. The man barked something she didn’t understand in Ukrainian or Russian, she wasn’t sure which, before stomping up the stairs.

The boat was a trawler about the size of the one that struck the gulet. Tischenko and the two others were sufficient crew and sufficient manpower to handle her too. She listened for additional voices anyway. When she saw Atakan he’d want to know how many men she heard or saw. She hoped he hadn’t been critically injured yet and they’d somehow get away.

The trawler’s engine started and she felt the sway as they started moving. Waves slapped against the hull, the up-down motion as they cut through them melding with the sway. The rocking lessened the farther they went into the open water.

Charlotte bent and rubbed her face along the cushion, trying to get the hood off. It itched, and she was burning up under it. Why Tischenko used the hood mystified her. What difference did it make if she saw where he lived? Chances are she wouldn’t recognize the area. Plus, he planned to kill her. Dead victims tell no tales. It was just an intimidation device. Under different circumstances, she’d gladly advise him, “Dump the hood. I’m intimidated plenty without it.”

She had no luck with the hood and stopped struggling. She leaned against the bulkhead and tried to think of escape plans to share with Atakan. Planning helped her stay alert, in case, by some miracle, chance help came along. She never believed in miracles. But if they existed, this was a good time for them to manifest themselves and prove her wrong.

Several hours passed before the outside environment changed. Shouts in Turkish came from other ships. Their trawler slowed. They must be maneuvering through heavier boat traffic. Ships passed close by, large ones judging from their engine noise. The noxious smell of diesel fumes from oil tankers and container ships penetrated the hood. Istanbul. They were traveling through Istanbul Harbor. It danced across her mind to try and escape out the side and jump overboard and reach help.

And sink like a stone with her tied hands.

Someone came down the stairs.

“Are you hot under that hood?”

Tischenko.

“Yes. It’s lame you know. What’s the difference if I see where we’re going or not?”

“It’s a technique I like.”

“You watch too many movies.”

He yanked the hood from her head, taking several strands of hair with it.

She flinched at the sting and then blinked rapidly as the sunlight hit her eyes. When her vision cleared, she was able to see their location through the starboard windows.

High on a hill in the distance, the late afternoon sun cast a pink and apricot glow over the six minarets of the Blue Mosque. Along the base of the hill was a peek-a-boo view of the crumbling walls of the Old City. They’d passed the Golden Horn and through Istanbul’s main commercial shipping lanes. The odds for help dwindled with the decreasing number of ships.

“Would you like some water?” Tischenko asked.

She hadn’t realized how thirsty she was until he made the offer. “Yes.”

He opened a small refrigerator and took out a bottle of Evian. He unscrewed the top and held the bottle to her lips.

“Fear dries the mouth,” he said, as she drank the whole bottle without taking a breath.

When she finished, he laid the empty bottle on the galley table.

He ran his hand between her thighs, cupping her, stroking her. He pulled his hand away and slid it up over her belly. He twisted the waistband of her shorts until the button popped and then unzipped them. He inserted his fingers into her panties and tugged down, giving him room to fondle her crotch.

She clenched her lower body, tightening, fighting the invasive touch.

Tischenko smiled and slid a finger inside her. Reflexively, she clenched harder. “Nice strong pussy. I like that.”

He continued to probe her, pushing his fingers higher.

Taking deep, even breaths, she relaxed. She began to roll her wrists back and forth beneath the rope knot. The taut restraint limited her torque, but the thin skin around the bone abraded with the minor effort. The burning sensation was instantaneous. The tearing of the skin took longer, but not much. She focused on the pain and pushed Tischenko’s violation to another part of her mind. The relief of the diversion was brief. The feel of him, his closeness returned fast.

She stopped hurting herself and ventured a glance to the bulge growing behind the zipper of his cargo pants. She changed the subject before he forced her to jerk him off, or worse.

“Did you come to torment me, because your conversational skills stink?”

“Yes and no.” He pulled his hand out from her crotch and sat back against the seat. “Torment for you, idle talk for me.” He shrugged. “The Turkish Navy is all around the harbor. It’s better they don’t see me.”

“They’re probably searching for Atakan.”

“Atakan?”

She didn’t understand why he looked so puzzled.

“Ah yes, searching for Atakan. Perhaps. But, they also know me on sight. We have a history of encounters. I’d rather avoid one today.”

One of his men shouted to Tischenko and he stood.

“We will have more time together later. It won’t be long to Sevastopol.” He looked out the port and starboard windows and then climbed the stairs to the top deck.

At least, he hadn’t put the hood back on before he left and for that small break she was deeply grateful.

Chapter Seventy

Sevastopol/Tischenko’s Compound

An unmarked delivery van with no rear windows and a driver were waiting by the cove when the trawler anchored.

Tischenko’s men loaded her in the cargo area of the van. Dumped her was a better description. They kept her hands tied, but the hood stayed off for the ride to his compound.

The van slowed to a crawl and turned. Her sense of time was skewed, but the ride seemed about twenty minutes. How long from this compound to the beach would it take someone on foot? Provided Atakan had a good sense of direction, which she was born without.

Charlotte heard the sound of electric gates creaking open. Gravel crunched under the tires. She estimated one meter per second and counted those seconds in increments of a thousand...one thousand...two thousand. At fifteen meters they stopped. About fifty feet, good to know if they made a run for it.

The third man from the trawler threw open the cargo doors and pulled her out by her ankles until her feet hit the ground.

She took a quick look around the walled compound wondering what she should observe that Atakan didn’t already.

The concrete used to enclose the grounds looked like cheap blocking to her. Difficult to find a foothold on and climb.

The front door had a surveillance camera mounted on the top lintel. She’d guessed the front gate did too since it opened without them identifying themselves.

Tischenko stopped to talk to two men from the compound. The two from the boat stood on either side of her silent as their boss conversed with the other.

Charlotte studied the place Tischenko called home. The stone house was a design nightmare. Part Norman castle with a crenellated roofline, part Byzantine, with onion shaped center and turrets, and finished with Palladian style arched windows. What combination of early hallucinogenic did this architect take?

Close to the sea and Sevastopol, the place was probably the summer house of a rich Bolshevik originally. She was hustled into the house before she saw anything useful.

His man pushed and shoved her into a high-ceilinged entry. Tischenko turned left and stepped through tall double doors into a well furnished parlor. Not as big as her mother’s living room, but impressive.

The hardwood floors gleamed. He’d covered them with a variety of bold patterned Turkish and Persian rugs. Two butter colored wing-back leather chairs faced a plump sofa of heavy garnet silk. Strategically placed hammered copper side tables and coffee table created a pleasing conversation area in front of a stone fireplace. No television or CD player was visible.

She couldn’t imagine anyone in their right mind wanting to sit and talk with Tischenko.

Wainscoting bordered the lower walls and cream-colored moiré wallpaper covered the upper portion. A bucolic Renaissance tapestry hung next to the fireplace. The tasteful interior bore no relationship to the bizarre exterior.

She wondered briefly what his family and educational background was. She imagined a contract killer in a garish environment of bad art, exotic electronics, and mismatched furniture.

He kept his gun and shoulder holster on as he crossed the room to a mahogany secretaire. Crystal decanters sat on one side of the desktop along with a set of wine goblets and cocktail glasses. On the other side were bottles of different liquors.

Who does this psycho entertain? She’d love to ask.

He filled one of the goblets to the top with Putinka Vodka. Back home, most of her friends preferred Absolut or Ketel over the Russian brands. She didn’t drink vodka, having never acquired a taste for hard liquor other than scotch.

Tischenko brought his drink and sat in one of the wing-back chairs, repositioning it so he could watch her.

“Strip her,” he told his men.

The same man who tied her wrists stepped close and severed the ropes. She felt a lightning fast rage cut through her as the restraint came off. She knew a self-defense move Nick taught her. Temporarily disabling and nasty, she could put the man behind her in a world of hurt. She’d only have a shot at the one man. The others would pounce on her. Punishment would be inflicted. But...if she hurt the one guy enough, it made that one less effective later.

She dropped her hands to her sides, resisting the temptation to rub her raw wrists. She made a tight fist with her right hand, her strong hand, and swung back hard and fast with a direct hit to his nuts.

The whoosh of air as he gasped and cried out blew warm over her neck. Everything afterward happened in bursts. The second man’s face flashed in front of her, then his fist, and a glimpse of tan skin. The air rushed from her lungs with the explosion of pain in her midriff. She fell onto her knees and doubled over. The panic of not being able to breathe blanked everything else from her mind.

She had a vague awareness of two men hauling her to her feet and ripping her clothes off. She didn’t care. All she wanted was air. When they finished, she collapsed to her knees again, naked. She stayed there, struggling to take in tiny gulps of air. Once she finally managed a deep breath, the intense throbbing pain where she was punched reached her brain. No one punched her there or anywhere before. She didn’t know whether this degree of pain meant she was badly bruised or if he ruptured some organ. The throbbing began to ease a bit. She figured it was a sign nothing was ruptured.

“Leave us,” Tischenko ordered his men.

The doors closed behind them as they left. It was just her and Tischenko now.

He walked over and yanked her hair, forcing her to look up. With his other hand he C-clamped the pressure points of her jawbone, his fingers squeezing until she opened her mouth.

“Drink.” He poured vodka down her throat.

She choked down a small amount.

“More?”

She hated the taste but accepted another swallow, a larger one. Maybe it would help the lingering pain from the punch.

The liquid filled her throat and mouth. It ran down the sides of her face, past her ears, drenching her neck.

He chuckled as she emptied the glass. Afterward, he went back to the chair and set the glass on the wine table. Then, he came to her again.

“Stupid move, striking my man.”

Charlotte ignored him. She hoped she made ground meat of the bastard’s testicles.

“Can you breathe now?”

She nodded.

“Good, you can suck me off.” Tischenko unzipped his fly.

Nausea washed over her. She remembered her father’s words. Fight. Fight as long as you have breath in your body.

“Take it out.”

I’ll bite it off, she thought. I’ll make a woman of you, like you threatened to do to Atakan.

He was already aroused as she tugged his underwear down. The strong odor of salt and sweat hit her in the face and she recoiled slightly.

Forget the smell. Blank you mind.

She wrapped her hand around his dick.

“If you think to bite me, I’ll cut your tongue out.”

She believed him.

Silently apologizing to her dad for taking the coward’s way, she bent and did as he asked.

Tischenko finished fast, zipped, and called to his men.

“Can I see Atakan now?” Charlotte asked, still on her knees.

“Atakan’s not here. I never had Atakan.”

Chapter Seventy-One

Istanbul

Atakan finished his call listing the additional equipment needed from Director Firat and clicked off.

“That appeared to go rather smooth,” Iskender said.

“It did. Firat is completely onboard with our plan.”

“What’s the E.T.A.?”

“He’s sending a vehicle from our HQ here. It should arrive in ten minutes.”

Cengis said, “Thank you,” and hung up his call to Incirlik.

“Will they do it?” Atakan asked, afraid the U.S. Commander would want authorization from Washington first.

“Yes. I told you so. Their pilots are ready to take off once we give them the word.”

“You gave them the co-ordinates?”

“Yes.”

“You explained the urgency?”

“Yes.”

“There’s enough light left for them?”

Cengis glanced at Halim and rolled his eyes.

“Yes Atakan,” he said, with a long sigh. “They have all the information. They have enough light. Tischenko won’t hear it or see it and you’ll have your pictures shortly after the flyover.”

“Good.” Atakan nodded, oblivious to Cengis’s impatience. “The images are sent directly here, right?”

“No,” Cengis said. “Their protocol goes military link to military link. They’ll send the pictures to our base. The base will send them via our secure email net.”

“Fine.”

“It’ll be dark by the time our helicopter lands in Sevastopol and we set up,” Iskender said. “The dark works in our favor during the assault.”

Atakan didn’t comment. He checked his watch, stood and went to the window. Staring out in the direction of HQ, he waited, listening for the sirens on the vehicle they sent.

Long minutes passed, too long in his mind. He checked his watch again. Eight minutes since he’d hung up with the Director. Two more minutes, then he’d call HQ and demand they speed things up.

Traffic on Resadiye Caddesi, the main boulevard, was at near gridlock. The HQ vehicle may take a different route to avoid the mass of cars and trucks. He searched the side streets, massaging his temples with no relief. The blistering headache had settled in his forehead and behind his eyes. Something flashed in his peripheral vision. Blue and red lights were weaving their way through the heavy traffic, followed by the wail of their siren.

The four investigators from his unit at HQ brought duffle bags of equipment. Two of the men, Ates and Erten, who were involved in the arrest of Ursula and Abassian volunteered to go on the assault.

Atakan needed the bodies and accepted the offer.

“Everyone suit up.”

Atakan distributed the Mehmetciks assault rifles, extra magazines, radios, and protective gear to his crew. The rifles were in addition to their duty side arms.

“Give the Americans the go-ahead,” he told Cengis. “By the time we’re finished, they should be sending the photos.”

All the men set their radios to the pre-determined scrambled frequency.

The Mehmetcik was a newly issued weapon, replacing the HK G3’s they used for years. Atakan had to familiarize himself with the weapon again. He’d trained on the rifle and fired one many times on the range, but that was months ago.

Firat had sent the shorter fourteen and a half inch barrel carbines. Atakan liked the way it handled. It was a reliable weapon, accurate, easy to maintain, and quick to use. Odds were Tischenko would stay with what he was familiar with, the Russian AK-47. The Mehmetcik would do well against the AK.

The flyover shots came in rapid succession. Atakan spread the photos across the desk. The thermal imaging showed two targets on the ground. Atakan guessed Tischenko had one more man with him when he took Charlotte.

“I think four is underestimating Tischenko’s fire power,” Iskender said.

“I agree,” Atakan said. “I’d say count on six at least, including Tischenko.

“Good cover with the woods, here and here, and here.” Iskender pointed to the places the trees were thickest. “It gives us a way to find all entries to the house and if he uses surveillance cameras.”

“This cleared section must be the main entrance. See the break in the wall. A frontal assault is out,” Cengis said.

“We need to know if the bodies on the ground are part of a regular perimeter patrol or two guys having a smoke,” Atakan said. “Ares, Erten, you’ll carry cans on your weapons.” He retrieved the suppressors from his duffle bag and handed them to Ates. “If they step outside the walls, neutralize them.”

Atakan studied the images. “We’ll breach the wall from the rear or sides, depending on what we find once we’re on the scene. If his men are part of a regular patrol, we synchronize our blast to coincide with their routine. The blast kills the element of surprise, but better to eliminate any threats as we make entry.”

“Once Tischenko is alerted to our presence, it shortens the time we have to extract Charlotte,” Iskender commented.

“I know.”

The phone rang.

Atakan answered and wrote the details the Director gave him once they touched down in Sevastopol.

“Good news.” Atakan folded his notes and stuck them in the pocket of his assault vest, then gathered the flyover images. “We have four Ukrainians to assist, two captains from their secret police and two from the regional police.”

“Is there going to be a language issue?” Halim asked. “They have to understand my instructions when I set the breach.”

“Not a problem. Firat asked for Turkish speakers,” Atakan said.

Cengis frowned. “I don’t like the idea of taking orders from their secret police.”

“Not an issue. They agreed,” Atakan’s brows notched up, “surprisingly, to let us have the lead. They had one condition; the SBU captains confiscate everything on the premises. We get Charlotte, period.”

“Have at it. Take the guns and all Tischenko’s property,” Iskender said.

“Who cares?” On another desk, Halim loaded two kilos of C-4 into a metal case with detonation cord. In a separate case he packed the initiator, blasting caps, tape, and the spool of non-electrical plastic tubing lined with explosive.

“You sure you know what you’re doing? I wasn’t aware you had such expertise,” Atakan asked, leery when it came to explosive devices. In the army, he’d seen the damage IED’s wrought.

“I have many talents you don’t know about, but the ladies do.”

“Do not get him started,” Iskender groaned.

Atakan was curious. “Where did you learn this?”

“I spent my military time dismantling PKK bombs in the Sirnak Province. You cannot dismantle one without first learning how to make them.”

“A convenient talent to have right now.” Atakan grabbed his duffle bag and regular issue gear bag. “Let’s go. The helicopter is waiting.”

#

They used the dead time on the flight to Sevastopol to apply camouflage paint to their faces and necks, all except Halim.

Atakan put the final touches of paint along his jaw line and watched Halim out of the corner of his eye. Halim was busy cutting sections of the C-4 kilos into cigarette package size blocks with his boot knife. He set the cut charges into a designated slot in his case. He wound the detonation cord into a perfect coil to prevent tangling when removed, and placed the line on top of the C-4 packets.

They landed on the roof of the Ministry of Internal Affairs in Sevastopol which housed the regional police station. The two regional policemen were waiting on the roof when they arrived. After introductions, they led Atakan’s crew to a basement conference room. The two SBU captains sat at a long table in front of several maps of the area.

The men stood and extended their hands.

“I am Captain Demcuk,” the first man said. “This is Captain Mazur.” He gestured to his partner.

Atakan shook their hands and introduced his crew. Wasting no further time, he laid the photos on the table.

The four Ukrainians studied the pictures. Mazur took the two aerial shots with the most detail and compared them to the maps on the wall.

“The road here,” he pointed to a thin line on the big map. “This is the best way to approach. We set up here and come in from the north on foot.”

Mazur turned and looked from Demcuk to Atakan. “Agreed?”

“You know the area,” Atakan said. “What kind of vehicle are we using?”

Demcuk answered. “We have a van and driver to use as our mobile command post. State of the art, you’ll like it.”

State of the art. Atakan expected no less from the secret police.

Atakan broke out four extra radios preset to the frequency his team was using and handed them to the Ukrainian officers.

“I wasn’t expecting a driver. I only brought four.”

“Our driver stays with the van. We use our radios to maintain communication with him,” Demcuk said. “We’ll keep him apprised of the situation. If he loses contact with us, he is to notify our headquarters and standby.”

“Fine.” Atakan gathered the photos. “Ready when you are.”

Everyone grabbed their equipment and followed Demcuk and Mazur to the waiting van.

Chapter Seventy-Two

Tischenko’s Compound

Tischenko’s men had Charlotte by the upper arms in painful grips, forcing her upstairs. It was all a blur as they moved her toward the bedroom. Questions and panic filled her mind. They jumbled together feeding off each other. Her nakedness was the least of her worries.

From the time she left Bozburun, she expected she’d see Atakan. She thought at some point, when Tischenko tired of her, he’d toss her into the same place as Atakan or close by.

She didn’t delude herself. She knew the nightmare Tischenko had in store for her. But, as long as Atakan was alive, there was a chance of escape.

Never, after hearing the recording of him on the phone did it occur to her Tischenko had somehow faked the calls.

It didn’t matter how. He did. She was alone.

The terrifying meaning of that reality overwhelmed her. She had to do something, no matter how desperate to save herself. At the top of the stairs, she made her move. She struggled and fought with the men, writhing and jerking against their hold, trying to break free. She planned to run. Somewhere...anywhere. The front door was out. If the two men who held her didn’t catch up, Tischenko was still in the main room. He’d get to her before she made it outside. She’d have to risk a leap from the upper window.

She managed to pull out of the grasp of one man only to have the second man wrap his arms around her in a bear hug from behind. The man she broke from stepped close and he raised his hand to hit her. His back was to the stairs. She pushed back hard against the chest of the man who hugged her. Using him as leverage, she lifted both feet and kicked the first man in the torso.

“Fall you bastard.”

He staggered but kept his balance.

Hearing the commotion, Tischenko came to the bottom of the stairs as the first man made to hit her again.

“Enough,” Tischenko yelled, stopping the man. “I do not want her too bruised to look at, already her cheek is blue.”

You made it that way, Charlotte thought.

“Get her tied down. If you cannot, I’ll send someone who can,” Tischenko ordered.

The second man continued to hold her in a strong hug, dragging her along to the bed. Tossing her onto her back on the bed, he straddled her. He held her hands in place while the first man tied her up with ropes to the bedposts.

Once her hands were tied, the man who straddled her climbed off.

She pulled against the restraints, tugging, clenching her fists. If she made her hands smaller, maybe she could slip the bonds.

The first man stood at the side of the bed and withdrew two more lengths of rope.

They were going to spread eagle her. There was no escape. She’d be raped by Tischenko then gang raped by his men, then killed. She’d die, but she’d suffer first.

She stilled.

The second man leaned on the doorjamb, watching while the first man clamped his hand around her right ankle. Ever so slow, Charlotte edged her left leg to the far side of the bed. It was her weak leg and she wanted as much momentum as possible.

The first man bent to tie the knot on the ankle rope. His face inches above her right leg. Charlotte swung her left leg and aimed the top of her foot for his head. She caught him with the full impact of her foot. He recoiled, holding his bloody nose.

Sharp pain radiated from her foot and up her leg. The blow ignited every nerve ending in the top of her sensitive arch. She rocked forward off the bed, yanking the ropes on her wrists taut. The second man rushed from his spot by the door and held her loose leg down. He snatched the last length of rope the other man had dropped and tied her ankle to the foot post. When he finished, he reached over and pinched one nipple between his fingers until she cried out and then he twisted. Charlotte screamed louder. He smiled and did the same to her other nipple.

Tischenko stepped into the room. He looked with disgust at the first man whose nose no longer bled, but the streaks of blood had begun to cake around his nostrils and mouth.

“The bitch kicked me.”

Tischenko waved him away. He laid a hand on the arm of the second man who had moved away and started to leave. “Kill him,” Tischenko said low near the man’s ear.

Good. Breathing hard, her breasts aching, she wanted them all to die. One was a start.

Once his men left the room, Tischenko sat on the edge of the bed and looked her over. He tipped her head to the side with his finger. With a feather light touch, he brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers where he’d hit her in Bozburun. He stroked her cheekbone all the way to the hairline. He wiped the sweat that dampened her face from her struggles with the sheet.

Tischenko pulled his knife from the sheath and touched the blade to her carotid artery.

Charlotte tensed, waiting for him to cut her throat. Atakan’s words echoed in her mind. He likes a watery death. Tischenko would drown her, like Heather. That meant he intended on cutting her first, just not her throat. Charlotte closed her eyes and prayed to all the gods she’d die with the first slash.

Tischenko moved the knife to her breast. He circled her areole with the blade tip.

“If I cut this off, you will not die. If I cut your breasts off, you die, but it will be a slow death.”

She refused to play along and turned her face. She wouldn’t show him how consumed with fear she was. Terror overpowered her. She began to shake. The tremors moved through her, too strong to control.

He laughed and stood but didn’t put the knife away.

“What music do you like?”

The question was so out of left field, her mind went blank. She tried and couldn’t think of one group she liked. She struggled for an answer, somewhere in the recesses of her brain, she knew she had favorites. What were they?

“Speak. You are no mouse.”

“I...I...ah...”

Think. She closed her eyes again and tried to remember what was on her iPod. “Cold Play, I like Cold Play and Collide and Enigma.”

“All crap, except for Collide. I like their Chasing the Ghost album.”

The same one she had on her iPod. Their mutual taste in music, however minimal, rattled her. If by a last minute miracle she lived, she’d delete Collide from her iPod straight away.

The tip of the blade tickled the underside of her breast.

Stall, play for time, anything to keep him from cutting your breasts off. “Who do you like?”

“Jay-Z, Emigrate, and Metallica. Yes, yes, I know Metallica is ancient. I cannot help myself, I like them.”

She’d heard of Jay-Z but not Emigrate. Everyone had heard of Metallica.

“What’s your favorite song by Metallica?” she asked, to keep him talking.

“Turn the Page.”

Charlotte wasn’t a Metallica fan, but that song was the one she knew by the group and to her dismay, liked herself. “Are you kidding me? Turn the Page?”

Tischenko ignored her question and walked over to a Sony CD player in a component stand in the corner of the room. He removed his gun belt with the auto. He rolled the leather belt neatly and laid it and the knife on a side table. He opened a cabinet above the player filled with CD’s. He spent no time searching for the one he wanted. He went straight to the third shelf, midsection. He removed whatever CD was in the first slot and inserted the new one.

The first notes of Free Speech for the Dumb played. Charlotte was familiar with the Metallica song. Nick played it to death when it was initially released. The song was from Garage, Inc., a late nineties CD. The music took her back. She was a freshman at University of Chicago the year it came out. Nick was in his junior year and banged her history professor’s sexy, blonde aide. Charlotte threatened to kill him. Aides often graded the undergrads, like Charlotte’s essays. He knew that when he banged the aide, the idiot.

I’ll never see Nick again.

She pushed Nick from her mind and concentrated on the music. Turn the Page was the fourth cut. What would Tischenko do once the song ended?

Painted scenes cleverly disguised two sets of double doors where he stood. The brass handles gave their true purpose away. One set depicted a common old world hunt scene, men on horseback chasing a frightened stag through the woods. David’s famous Leonidas at Thermopylae covered the other doors.

She squinted as she eyed the second set of doors, thinking borderline hysteria had affected her vision. She was seeing right. Tischenko had replaced the Spartan king’s face of David’s creation with his own.

Tischenko opened the hunt scene doors. From a cabinet behind them he took out a bottle of Putinka and a crystal glass. He filled the glass almost to the top.

The hidden liquor cabinet crushed the hope she’d had that there was a way out through those doors. She assumed the second set concealed another storage unit. She glanced at the open windows with grim resignation.

“Drink, if you like,” he said, sitting on the side of the bed again. He helped her to sit up enough to take a swallow without choking.

She took several swallows. She’d drink the whole bottle, if he let her, to numb herself for what was in store.

Tischenko moved to a chair across the room. Sinking into it, he closed his eyes, resting the vodka on his thigh.

Charlotte lay still for a few minutes. Then, careful to make no noise, she wriggled her wrists. She tested the restraints to see if she could free one hand. The window was a desperate move, likely to fail. But, at this point, she had nothing to lose.

“Stop. You cannot escape. Even if you could, the only way out is the window. The fall will break your ankles,” Tischenko said, without opening his eyes.

He was right. It was useless to fight anymore. Charlotte stopped. She remained quiet, letting him have his moment of peace, hoping the inevitable wouldn’t happen.

But, it did.

Tischenko listened to the entire CD then got up and turned the player off. He came to the bed again, this time sitting farther down, near her hips. He brought the knife with him.

“You thought I slept. You were wrong. I was thinking.” He ran the blade over her abdomen, from one hipbone to the other. “Your lover, Atakan, and I have crossed paths a number of times.”

“He’s not my lover.”

“Really?” Tischenko looked genuinely surprised. “Then he is stupider than I thought. No matter. I’m going to do something special to you. A message from me to him.”

His face brightened as he talked. “When they find your body, Atakan will know I not only had you, but left my brand, M.T.”

A new wave of terror had her begging.

“Please, please, I’ll do anything you want. Anything. Please, I beg you, don’t brand me, please.”

Tischenko’s dimples deepened with his laugh. “Of course, you’ll do anything I want. What sort of bargain is that? It is both ridiculous and insulting.”

He jabbed the point of the blade into the flesh beneath her hipbone.

“You think me so crude as to use a hot iron on you. Not my way. Besides, the smell of burning flesh offends me.”

She didn’t dwell on how he knew the smell.

“I prefer to carve my initials on you.”

The shock of the pain didn’t register at first. A reprieve of a few seconds before the intense burn followed by an excruciating, sharp pain shot through her central nervous system.

He sliced straight down then brought the tip to the top of the cut and piercing the skin again, he sliced down and to the right.

The beginning of the M in Maksym.

Chapter Seventy-Three

Atakan’s eyes shot to the second floor. Charlotte’s scream traveled to where he, Iskender, Ates, Halim, and the Ukrainian police hid. He searched the open windows trying to pinpoint which window it came from.

“She’s still alive,” Iskender said low.

“For now.”

Cengis and Erten manned the observation posts. Atakan positioned them in trees at the southwest and northeast corners of the compound. Each had an unobstructed view of the two sides.

Atakan adjusted the bone mic on his helmet. “Update me, Cengis.”

“They’re in no hurry. Fifteen minutes on the nose for the men to make one complete round of the interior perimeter.”

Atakan pressed the button on his watch and checked the time on the luminous dial. “Cengis, Erten, regroup with us.

“How many entrances?” he asked when the two joined them in the woods.

“Only one that I saw,” Erten said, “the main entrance.”

“Only one that I observed,” Cengis said, storing his night vision goggles. “In the rear.”

Atakan turned to Halim who’d applied his camouflage paint in the van on the road to Tischenko’s. “Ready?”

Halim nodded and removed the blocks of C-4 from his case. “I need a partner to assist.”

Careful to keep the detonation cords straight, he stacked the explosive packs into two piles. Then, he filled the front pockets of his jacket with the blasting caps, initiator, and the double-sided tape.

Cengis volunteered to assist. “Tell me what to do.”

This was the first time Atakan was involved in a Ministry field operation that used explosives. He never thought the occasion would arise in their work. He had great respect for bomb experts. He listened closely as Halim explained the procedure.

“We always have a backup breaching charge. You will place the secondary device.” Halim had Cengis hold two blocks of C-4 in his hands and demonstrated how to set the charge.

“Stick the tape to the back side and then space the blocks evenly in a rectangular pattern. Tie them together with the attached cord, loop the ends and attach the blasting caps.

“Questions?”

“What about the tubing?” Cengis asked.

“That’s my job. I’ll roll the tubing out and trigger the primer.”

“Where do you want us when this thing goes off?” Atakan eyed what he judged an advantageous place. “The closer to the breach, the better.”

“I understand your reasoning. But for your safety, you must position yourselves further down from the blast site.”

“How far down? Can we at least sit at the base of the wall?”

“Almost to the corners and no, you must leave a minimum space of a meter-and-a-half between you and the wall.”

It wasn’t the answer he wanted but Atakan didn’t argue.

Halim described the initial effects for them. “The debris blows inward, and then there’ll be a momentary funnel effect coming out. That is immediately followed by a strong shock wave which travels outward the length of the structure.”

“How much time do you need?” Atakan asked.

“Maybe as little as three minutes, five on the outside to set both the breach charges and run the spool.”

Charlotte screamed again, fainter this time.

“Make it three.”

Halim nodded.

“I’ll countdown from five seconds and signal you to go,” Atakan told him. “I’m setting the time from when his men round the northwest corner.”

“The explosion should eliminate the perimeter men. If it doesn’t,” Atakan pointed to the two regional policemen, “you engage. Once you’ve neutralized them, remain outside and secure the area.”

“After we’re through the breach, how do you want us to split up?” Demcuk asked.

“We’ll all hit the rear. Inside, Ates, Iskender, you and I, will take the upstairs. The three of you,” he motioned to Halim, Cengis, and Erten go with Captain Mazur and clear the first floor.”

Atakan turned to Erten. “Resume your position on the northeast corner. Stay on the ground. When you are able to see the exterior light at the opposite side lit tell me. The clock starts then.”

The men crouched down parallel to the wall and put their safety goggles on and unslung their rifles except for Halim and Cengis. They squatted at the foot of the wall waiting for Atakan’s signal.

Erten made a downward slicing gesture with his hand. Atakan began his countdown for Halim to see, five fingers, four, three, two, one, then he raised his closed fist.

Halim and Cengis slapped the clay-like fracture charges in the rectangular pattern, quickly tied the detonation cords for all the packets together. “For a multiplier effect,” Halim had told Atakan.

Halim unrolled the explosive tubing the fifty meters to the tree line and readied the primer.

Atakan lit the dial on his watch, timing the moment when the perimeter men would pass.

“Now,” he whispered into the bone mic to Halim.

The second charge wasn’t needed. The first one blasted a section of the wall apart wide enough to drive the van through.

Atakan expected exposed rebar to slow them entering the breach, but little protruded. For once, cheap Russian construction served a purpose.

The regional police went first. One broke right, the other left to setup protective cover as the men came through the breach. Atakan ran past ignoring the muzzle flash from the ground. Behind him, there was a series of muffled rounds as a policeman killed Tischenko’s man who’d survived the blast.

Yelling came from the house as they approached. Atakan fired a short burst of rounds into the lock, shattering the mechanism. He kicked the door and the team poured into a long hall and split again.

Atakan took the stairs two at a time. On the first floor, long bursts of gunfire came from the rear of the house.

On the second floor, Atakan, Iskender, and Demcuk worked together clearing the rooms finding no sign of Charlotte or Tischenko.

Atakan started down the hall to a room with large, double doors. One of Tischenko’s men stepped into the corridor in front of him. Iskender and Atakan fired simultaneously.

Shouts from the ground floor announced the second team had secured that level.

Where was Tischenko?

Atakan and Iskender kicked the double doors which had been dead bolted. No Tischenko. But, he’d found Charlotte. A blood trail ran from her hip to the bed, a circle of red staining the sheet.

Chapter Seventy-Four

Charlotte didn’t know who attacked Tischenko’s place. It sounded like a bomb went off close. A horrendous amount of gunfire followed on the heels of the explosion. Assault rifles from the quick bursts. Tischenko jumped up. Sheathing his knife, he ran to the window and swore. He hurried to the side table, grabbed his gun belt and left through the David doors.

She didn’t understand the words the first two men yelled as they rushed into the bedroom and fanned out. The third man moved forward but said nothing. From their appearance, they were military. Their faces were heavily painted. Two wore the same black uniforms and one wore a similar uniform but with different insignias. They were geared up like a SWAT team or military special ops unit.

Russians were the logical choice. Tischenko probably screwed Mother Russia over in some way. Now, they were coming after their old comrade.

What about her? Naked and spread-eagled, she was helpless. She’d read the horror stories about the Russian army’s atrocities against women and children in Afghanistan and Chechnya.

The lead man stared at her for a few heartbeats. He slung his rifle and pulled a knife from his boot and approached.

She had her answer. What Tischenko did was nothing. The Russians had all the time in the world to hack at her. She yanked at the ropes. She twisted, her torso, hips and legs, lifting only the limited inches the restraints allowed. She sank down into the mattress and looked away. The bed dipped as he sat next to her. She felt his body heat and stiffened. She whimpered, anticipating the new pain. It was a pathetic, kicked puppy sound.

“Charlotte.”

She froze. Her imagination was playing tricks. Fear does that. She heard the voice she wished to hear.

“Charlotte.”

She turned to see the face that belonged to another’s voice. The man held the knife in his right hand and pushed his goggles onto his helmet with the left. His features were obscured behind green and brown paint, but she saw past the camouflage now.

“Atakan?”

“Who else?” he asked, cutting one wrist free, and then leaned across her to cut the other free.

“I thought you were Russian.”

“I won’t ask how you came to that deduction.”

He cut the ropes from her ankles as the other two men moved to the foot of the bed.

“Where is Tischenko?” the second man asked.

“The wall paintings conceal hidden doors.” Charlotte sat up, hugged her knees to her chest and pointed. “I think he escaped to a basement level. I heard him hurrying down stairs. Be careful. He’s armed with an auto and a knife.”

They pivoted and locked onto the doors with the hunt scene.

“Not those, the Hot Gates, the David copy,” Charlotte told the one with the same uniform as Atakan.

“The Leonidas at Thermopylae?”

He’d spoken with a Turkish accent. Charlotte guessed he worked for the Ministry like Atakan and knew the painting.

He did a double take at Tischenko’s version of Leonidas as he rushed through the doors.

“Who is he?”

“Iskender, one of my unit in Istanbul.”

Cengis and Halim entered the room with Mazur behind them. Atakan grabbed a blanket that had slid to the floor and covered Charlotte.

“Follow Iskender and Demcuk, they’ve gone after Tischenko.” Atakan gestured to the open doors.

Charlotte began to shake. She clutched the blanket’s satin binding and hung her head, ashamed at her lack of control. She tried to repress the reaction and compose herself, but the tremors wouldn’t stop.

Atakan wrapped his arms around her. He didn’t speak. He just held her as she shook.

“I’m sorry. I’m acting like a baby. It’s so stupid.”

“You’re not stupid. You need to let the emotions out.
“No. This is silly to be so upset. He’s gone. I’m safe now.”

“Yes, you are safe. You are also still a crazy woman. Do American universities not teach psychology and human nature? Emotional trauma requires release. A sane woman would cry.”

The shaking began to ease and Charlotte pulled back. “I don’t cry,” she said with as much authority as she could muster.

Her hair was wet with perspiration and stuck to her cheeks and forehead. Atakan smoothed it from her face. “I know I’ll regret asking, but why?”

“My mother always said, crying is only acceptable when you’re in terrible physical pain. Crying is for people who don’t have the ability to express themselves any other way.”

His brows dipped into a slight frown. He looked like he wanted to comment, but he stayed quiet.

The last time she repeated her mother’s words, she told her two best friends in junior high. They called her mother strange and weird. Charlotte didn’t understand why they didn’t understand. It made perfect sense. Tears can’t change the events that triggered them. Therefore, they were a waste. After that day, she dropped those girls as friends. She never trusted anyone with the information again, until Atakan.

His silence bothered her. If he had something to say, she wanted to hear it. “What?”

“Nothing. I don’t know where to begin with that philosophy,” he said and squatted in front of her. “You’re hurt. Let me see.” He lifted the corner of the blanket.

She stared at the floor as he examined what Tischenko had done. “He carved his initials on me,” she said low.

Atakan went into the adjoining bathroom. Charlotte watched him while his back was to her. He ran the water in the sink while he searched drawers and found adhesive tape and wash cloths. He passed his hand under the tap, testing the water’s warmth. Then, he wet and soaped one cloth and only wet the other.

“I need you to sit on the edge of the bed,” he said, coming out of the bathroom. “I have to clean this.”

She did as he asked.

“I wasn’t playing detective when he took me.”

“I know.”

He wiped the blood off with the soaped cloth and the lather away with the damp one. “We came in a well equipped van. There’ll be a first aid kit available. I’ll be able to do a better job and disinfect this.” He set the cloths aside and tore the tape into thin strips. Gently, he pinched the cuts almost closed and used the strips as butterfly bandages over the wounds.

“Once we’re in Istanbul we’ll get you to a hospital. You’ll need stitches and a tetanus shot.” He tilted his head to make eye contact. “Charlotte...did he rape you? The hospital will want to know.”

“No,” she said, looking at him now.

“You can tell me. There’s no shame for you. I know what an animal Tischenko is. If he touched you, did things to you, the doctors must be told.”

“No.”

“Charlotte?”

“I said, no.”

She’d never tell Atakan about the blowjob, not him, not Nick, not anybody. People always treat a woman different when a personal attack of that nature happens. She’d known a few women who’d been victims of sexual assault. People walked on eggshells around them. She couldn’t bear to be seen as poor Charlotte.

When Atakan started questioning her, she’d already decided to compartmentalize the incident. The ugliest minutes of her life, but they were only minutes out of a long life, that’s all. She’d put the nightmare in a box and stick it far from her mind and forget. When the scars the initials left reminded her, she’d shove the memory back in the box.

Atakan tugged the blanket closed.

“Do you think the hospital will want to keep me?”

“Overnight, yes, for observation.”

“I won’t stay.”

“Charlotte...”

“I won’t stay. They can’t make me.”

Atakan sighed hard. “Why must you always be so obstinate?”

“I hate hospitals. They smell.”

“Where do you plan to go?”

“I’ll call a taxi and stay in a hotel.”

“Really? How do you intend to pay for this? Your credit cards, cash, and passport are in Bozburun.”

“I’ll figure out something,” she said.

“You’ll stay with me.”

She wasn’t angling for an invitation, but she would like to stay with him, under the right circumstances. She hesitated.

“I see you’re not interested. Since you don’t find the offer pleasing, let me take you to a hotel. I will pay.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t interested.”

“Your silence indicates differently.”

“I wasn’t thinking that at all.”

“Then, you are amenable?”

“Do you live alone?”

“You mean do I live with Ermine,” Atakan said, smiling. “I live alone. I told you, Ermine and I are not, how you say, a couple.”

“In that case, your offer pleases me. I’ll stay.”

“When we get home, you can wear my things. Tomorrow, I’ll have Refik send some of your clothes.”

Voices came from the hidden stairs. Iskender and the others entered the room.

“The stairs lead to a tunnel. We followed it to the end, but he escaped. The tunnel runs under the compound wall and exits into the woods,” Iskender reported.

“I have ordered helicopters from Sevastopol to search the area,” Demcuk said.

“Good. Speaking for the Ministry, we’d appreciate it if you’d keep us informed.”

“Of course.”

Demcuk eyed the bloody cloths on the floor and then Charlotte. “How is the woman?”

“She’ll be fine, but I’d like to get her to Istanbul as soon as possible.”

“Take our van. Captain Mazur and I will stay here with our other officers. We’ll find Tischenko. You can have him after we’re done.”

Chapter Seventy-Five

Istanbul

A full day and night of rest was all Charlotte tolerated before she started to go bug-nuts.

She sponged the layer of dust from the countertop in Atakan’s tiny kitchen. The tile, the color of Dijon mustard didn’t look any better clean. Any shine it once had wore off ages ago. There wasn’t much of the dull countertop, only postage stamp size areas on either side of the single basin sink. An old toaster and new juicer used up most of the space on the pie-shaped section between the sink and stove. What remained was a meter length area on the sink’s opposite side. A refrigerator for Hobbits and a stacked washer and dryer ate up the remainder of floor space.

Atakan was still gone. In his absence, Charlotte wandered around the apartment. She hadn’t seen much since he brought her to his home. After the hospital discharged her, he’d insisted she take the Valium the doctor prescribed and sleep. She’d slept for hours, but once she awoke, she wanted out of bed. Atakan resisted. They squabbled until he finally relented and let her watch television with him on the sofa.

As soon as he was out the door that morning, she jumped out of bed. She showered first, a tricky task since she had to keep the stitches dry. She used Atakan’s plastic wrap from the kitchen, taping a layered square over them first. She wound the last length around her abdomen like a mummy and finished the roll. The tedious business was worth it to feel fresh and clean and wash her hair.

Atakan had retrieved her undergarments from Tischenko’s and washed them. The shorts and top she’d worn were ripped too badly to wear. Fine with her. She didn’t want to see or touch them again. Her camp clothes hadn’t arrived. She dressed in her panties and his jeans and the tee shirt he’d laid out on the foot of the bed. She left the bra off.

Now, she wanted to see his place. The Spartan bedroom offered no clues to his personal life. The room had a queen bed with a leather padded headboard and a highboy with a saucer of loose change on top. Nothing useful to satisfy her curiosity. In many ways, he was a mystery to her. What books did he read? What music other than what was on his iPod did he listen to? Did he have pictures of his family displayed anywhere? She hadn’t seen any in the living room.

She explored the dining room first. He had an antique round rosewood table that sat four. The matching glass front hutch was filled with a variety of collectibles.

Charlotte opened it, drawn to the excellent collection. Blue and white hand painted ceramics, ornamental copper plates, urn pots, and a tea set lined the shelves. She was familiar with the Phoenix interwoven with tulips pattern on a ceramic pitcher. It was in the distinctive Middle Eastern style, with a narrow, elongated spout and curved handle. If an authentic Iznik, the piece would be signed. She turned it over. The artist’s name was painted on the bottom.

The metal plates were lovely with their intricate Ottoman swirls of repeating flowers and circles. Turkey was famous for this type of object d’art. The quality plates were expensive.

She fell in love with the tea service. The beaded crystal set was the prettiest collectible, in her opinion. Blown bubbles of glass dripped down the tall pot and gold rimmed glasses were cradled inside filigree holders.

None of the pieces looked like anything Atakan would buy. The copper plates maybe, but nothing else. They had to be family heirlooms. She’d ask him when he came home.

When was he coming home? He’d been gone a long time.

He had to go into the office that morning. She’d plumped the pillows and sat up, watching him dress. He’d come out of the bathroom with a towel tied around his hips and his damp hair slicked back. She’d like it if he stayed that way all day. Work trumped wishful thinking. He pulled underwear and socks from his dresser and laid them on the bed. At the closet, he took a moment then selected a charcoal grey suit and lighter grey shirt. A battery operated tie rack attached to the rod spun a half turn. He picked out a burnt orange Ferragamo tie with a tiger cub and butterfly print in pale grey.

Charlotte recognized the tie by the color and pattern. It was one of Ferragamo’s more popular designs. Her mother gave Nick the same tie for Christmas. He didn’t tell their mother, but he told Charlotte he hated the tie. He liked the tiger cubs, hated the butterflies.

Atakan wasn’t shy about dropping the towel and dressing with an audience. Nor was she bashful about getting an eyeful of the few places she hadn’t seen at camp.

Finished, he grabbed the towel off the floor and went into the bathroom using the mirror there to knot his tie. When he stepped into the bedroom again, he looked like a well tanned banker rather than the casual, semi-dressed diver she was accustomed to.

“Atakan, the investigator,” he said, coming to her side of the bed. “What do you think?”

“I think you dressed too fast. Do it again, only slower. Start where you only wear a towel.”

He pressed the tip of his finger to her lips. “Such bold talk can get you into trouble.”

She wanted to say, “How about you play the part of trouble and I let you get into me?” That was a bit too bold, even for her. However, if the evening went as she hoped, cheap dirty talk might be on the menu.

“You’re to relax and rest at least one more day. I’ll be home as soon as possible.”

“Later, Trouble.”

She checked her watch. She was ravenous. Once he was assigned to the wreck site, Atakan hadn’t bothered to stock food. He was supposed to stop at the grocery on his way home.

Bright sunlight streamed into the dining room through French doors. They opened onto an oval patio with two chairs and a low table in between. He lived in the Uskuder district on the Asian side of Istanbul. She was unfamiliar with the area and stepped onto the patio wanting to look the neighborhood over.

The vestibule’s peeling paint, the walk-up four flights, and the sad, little kitchen were forgotten with one look.

From his patio, he had an unobstructed view of the Marmara Sea where it meets the Bosphorus. She leaned on the wrought iron patio railing and stretched forward. In the distance, ferries crossing between the Asian and European sides of the city dotted the water. To the right was the ancient Maiden’s Tower, with her scalloped dome, built on stone pile at water’s edge.

Closing the doors, she started her exploration of the bookshelves in the living room. A thick leather bound book stood out from the newer ones in glossy dust jackets. Charlotte slid it from the shelf. As she suspected, she’d found his family album.

She flipped through the first few pages with a cursory glance then stopped at a photo of a young couple with two small children. A uniformed man stood at parade rest, his feet a stride apart with his hands clasped behind his back. In his late thirties, about Atakan’s age, the resemblance to Atakan was striking. He had the same wide forehead, strong cheekbones, and square jaw line. He was an officer, judging from the insignias on his epaulets. Each maroon bar had three gold stars with a wreath, followed by the star and crescent of Turkey’s flag. Clean shaven, his hair was shorter than Atakan’s and worn in a brush style military cut but the same deep black. Although, he didn’t smile, he didn’t appear stern either.

In front of him, his wife sat posed with a shy smile. Her dress was a mint green frothy silk outfit with lace from the bodice to her throat. Sheer sleeves to her wrist covered her arms and a pale green scarf covered her hair. How feminine and beautiful she was. She hugged a female toddler who snuggled against the woman’s leg.

But the dark-haired little boy captured most of Charlotte’s attention. He stood next to his mother, at parade rest mimicking his father’s straight expression. His mother dressed him in black cuffed pants with knife sharp creases and a white shirt. A tie the exact shade of blue as his father’s uniform was tucked into a tapestry print vest.

Charlotte turned at the sound of the key in the door.

“What are you doing up? Why aren’t you resting, like I told you?” Atakan pushed the door shut with his hip.

“I rested enough. I feel fine.” Charlotte closed the album and set it on top of the bookshelf.

“You don’t listen to the doctors. You don’t listen to me. Who do you listen to?”

“No one comes to mind. I’ll have to think on it.” She reached for one of the grocery bags in his arms. “Let me help.”

“No, they’re too heavy,” he said, walking past her to the kitchen. He dropped the bags onto the counter.

“What took so long?” Charlotte began unloading a bag in search of snack food.

Atakan reached into the other bag and pulled out a Bounty Bar and gave it to her. “Work of course,” he said, and went into the dining room.

He shrugged out of his suit coat. He hung it over a chair, loosened his tie, and draped it over the chair too. He unbuttoned the top two buttons on his shirt and rolled his cuffs a single turn as he came back into the kitchen.

“The Director ordered one of his Crusade length debriefings. He expressed his pleasure with our successful rescue. Could the Director end the meeting there? No. He wished to point out a problem, which, boiled down to ‘Atakan is a goat brain who got his phone compromised. Therefore, you will all lock your phones up when they are not on your person.’”

“Goat brain isn’t the worst thing to be called.”

“Depends on if you’re the goat.”

Atakan unloaded one bag, opened a beer and took a swig.

Charlotte touched the bottle. “It’s warm.”

“I don’t care.”

He set a bottle of red wine on the counter and handed Charlotte a corkscrew from a drawer.

“Were you looking at my family pictures?”

“Yes. I hadn’t gotten far though. I only saw one of you when you were about five. Will you show me the rest?”

“Family photos are only interesting to those in the pictures.”

“I’m interested,” she said.

“Why? You don’t know my parents or my sister.”

“I know you. I want to see what you looked like growing up and when you were a young man, not the old coot you are now.”

“Coot? Is that not a louse?” Atakan asked; his head in the refrigerator as he stuck several more bottles of beer inside.

“That’s a cootie. Coot is a crotchety old man.”

“Pardon.” He closed the refrigerator door and faked an offended look.

“If it’s any consolation, I think you look pretty hot...for your age.” She threw the wrapper from the Bounty she’d wolfed down in the trash under his sink.

“I accept your strange compliment. Wine glasses are in the top cupboard.” He leaned against the counter edge and drank another swallow of beer.

“I know,” she said and removed a balloon glass. She poured herself a generous amount of wine.

“You look good in my tee shirt.”

As planned, going braless got noticed.

“So, you gonna show me your pictures?” She gave him a firm hip bump.

“For a price.”

“I don’t have much to negotiate with. What would you accept?”

“Make me an offer.”

“I have nothing of value other than my humble body.”

“How can I refuse such a generous gift?”

He set the beer down and bent to kiss her.

She pressed her finger to his lips. “I have a question.”

“Now?”

“Yes.”

“Your timing is atrocious, but ask away.”

“Why’d you laugh when the man at the village electronics store suggested making a dirty DVD of me for you? Was I that unsexy to you then?”

“I laughed because the idea was so far from the reality of what I’d have liked when it came to you. I’m a doer not a watcher. If I was going to have you, it would be the flesh and blood you, not a two dimensional image.”

“We’re both in luck. Here I am. In the flesh.”

He bent to kiss her again. His lips barely brushed hers when the pounding on the door made them jump and jerk apart.

Chapter Seventy-Six

Charlotte went to the door with Atakan. Several excited voices carried from outside.

“My family,” Charlotte sighed. “This will be a total boondoggle. I told you not to call them.”

“I didn’t.”

Someone pounded again. Atakan opened the door and stepped aside as Pat, Charlotte’s mother, Frank, her stepfather, Pete, her father, and his wife, Roni, and Nick all filed into the small living room.

“Thank God, you’re safe.” Her mother threw her arms around Charlotte’s neck as Atakan shut the door behind the group.

“I’m fine, mom.” She unhooked her mother’s arms.

“You had us all worried sick,” her father said, hugging her.

“Really dad, I’m okay.” Charlotte kissed him on the cheek and slipped her hand in Atakan’s. “Let me introduce you to my family.”

“You know Nick, of course.”

She turned, smiling at him as Nick drew back.

“You son-of-a-bitch. You used my sister as bait.”

Atakan moved to dodge the punch. Charlotte saw Nick’s intention and inserted herself between the two men. Atakan instantly tried to yank her out of the way and block the punch.

He was a fraction of a second off. Nick’s fist caught Charlotte’s cheekbone near the ear. Atakan pivoted, shielding her from another accidental blow.

Screams of “Nick” came from her family.

Her father shoved Nick hard in the chest, away from the couple. “Knock it off or get out.” He shoved him again and forced Nick to take another step back. “Apologize. Now.”

“My God, my God.” Pat Snow hovered by her daughter’s side.

“I won’t apologize to him.”

Charlotte broke away from Atakan who was examining her cheek and confronted her brother. “How dare you come here like a wildman making stupid accusations? You don’t have a clue what happened.”

“Case, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hit you.” Nick moved closer and reached to touch her face.

She batted his hand away. “He didn’t use me as bait, you ass. Atakan wasn’t even there when I was taken.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“No kidding.” She rubbed her cheek. “Happy? Now I have a bruise to match the one that Tischenko gave me.”

Behind them Atakan left the room and returned with a plastic baggie of ice. He stepped between Charlotte and her family. “Calm down,” he said low and put the ice bag in her hand. “Nick loves you. They all love you. Don’t be angry with them.”

Charlotte nodded.

Atakan introduced himself to everyone, extending his hand to all but Nick.

Nick stuck his hand out. “I’m sorry. I was out of line.”

Atakan ignored the proffered hand. “My mother is no female dog. If you ever refer to a member of my family is such terms again, you and I, will fight.”

“Again, I sincerely apologize. It wasn’t my intention to insult your family. That’s a common curse in the States and rarely taken literally.”

“This isn’t America.”

“Hey, if you want to take a swing at me, feel free. I deserve it.” Nick dropped his hands to his sides, offering himself to the blow.

“Your apology is sufficient.”

“Good, that messy business is settled.” Her mother looped her arm in Charlotte’s. “Frank and I booked a lovely two bedroom suite at the Four Seasons. Nicky is in the next room. You’ll come stay with us now.” Her mother looked her up and down. “We’ll stop at a clothing shop on the way.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Of course you are.”

“No. I’m not.”

The supreme matriarch, decisions that conflicted with her mother’s never went over well.

Her mother turned to Atakan. “No offense, but is there some place Charlotte and I can speak in private?”

“Follow me,” Charlotte answered and led her mother to the patio.

Atakan gestured to the sofa and chairs. “Everyone, please, sit. Can I offer you something to drink, beer, wine, bottled water?”

Chapter Seventy-Seven

Charlotte tossed the ice bag on the patio table and closed the French doors. “What do you want to talk about mom?”

“Honey, you can’t seriously consider staying on here. After...after...”

Her mother struggled to find a euphemism for what happened. She’d avoid describing what happened to Charlotte in hard, accurate terms. Emotionally and verbally, it was territory her mother wouldn’t go. Confronting unpleasantness wasn’t part of her nature. Charlotte often wondered what possessed her mother to marry a cop. She had no recollection of them ever discussing his job during their marriage. Her reaction was off the charts when Nick joined the force.

“My incident,” Charlotte supplied a soft word then continued when her mother opened her mouth to speak. “Mom, stop. I know what you want to say. Don’t. I’m fine. I’ve dealt with what happened in my own way.”

Undeterred, and as Charlotte unhappily half expected, her mother didn’t listen.

“I know you don’t give me credit for certain things. I haven’t your father’s worldly ‘street knowledge.’” She went on, making air quotes around the term. “But, I’m not the airhead you think I am. No one, Charlotte, no one, is ‘fine’ after something like what you endured. You need the support of your family, of people who love you.”

“I never said or thought you’re an airhead. As for the rest, I’m the exception to the rule. I’m staying here with Atakan. End of story.”

“Charlotte, I appreciate this man rescued you. Although, it would’ve been nice if he’d arrived sooner, before that animal cut you.”

“Do not go down that road, mother. You don’t know the circumstances.”

“Just saying. The point is, he saved you and Frank and I will compensate him, of course.”

“Don’t you dare try and give him money. He’d be horribly insulted, and stop calling him ‘this man.’ He has a name. It’s Atakan Vadim.”

“Honey, are you sleeping with this Atakan?”

“I was working on it when all of you showed up.”

Her mother gave her a piteous look like she was a sad, lost lamb. “Charlotte, it’s natural you’d have feelings for him. He rescued you. It’s natural for you to have a sort of hero-worship mindset.” Charlotte groaned. “But, you must recognize these feelings for what they are.”

“Mom, I had ‘these feelings’ for him long before Tischenko snatched me. I’m staying here, and this conversation is over.”

“Wait.” Her mother threw open one of the French doors and poked her head inside.

“Pete,” she called. “Would you come here please and help me talk some sense into your daughter.”

Pete Dashiell brought his beer and joined them on the patio. “What do you want Pat?”

“Your daughter refuses to leave. I tried to explain she needs to be with her family after her terrible ordeal. But, she’s got some kind of Stockholm-like syndrome regarding Atakan and won’t go.”

Her dad took a swig of beer and smiled at the frustrated look Charlotte gave him. “Give us few minutes alone, Pat.”

“Listen to your father.”

Her mother stepped inside and shut the doors. She hovered close enough for her silhouette to be visible through the sheer curtains.

Her dad sat and indicated for Charlotte to do the same.

“You don’t look like you’re suffering from any kind of syndrome, Stockholm or otherwise.”

“I’m not. Mom’s being mom.”

“So, what’s going on with you, Case? Up here,” he said, tapping her on the forehead.

Charlotte used her dad’s experience to help him see how she felt. “Other than casually telling Nick and me years ago you were in the battle of Hue, you never discussed Vietnam. Why?”

“I never talked about it with you kids, or your mother, or ex-marines on the force. I only spoke of it once after the battle—to the guys in my company.”

“Because?”

“They shared the unrelenting fear, the extreme horror of the experience.”

Her dad was quiet for a moment as he stared out at the water view.

“I don’t want to remember the battle and talking about Hue brings it to life. Will I ever forget?” he said, looking at her. “No. I still have the occasional nightmare where I’m there again.”

“It’s no different for me, dad. I just want to forget. I had to give a statement to the Ministry officials at the hospital. I started to shake uncontrollably. I told them what they needed to know. I can’t talk about it anymore. I locked it away deep inside me. You understand?”

Her dad leaned forward with his arms on his thighs. “Case, the cop in me has to ask. When you say, you told them what they ‘needed to know,’ did you tell them everything?”

“I gave them the necessary information.”

He put his beer down and reached across the table and took her fingers in his hands. “I don’t know Atakan. You apparently think he’s a pretty good guy, so he must have some special qualities. If there’s something else, something you’re not saying, maybe you should trust him with it.”

“He heard my statement. There’s nothing else.”

“Fair enough. Shall we call your mother back?”

“Let’s get it over with.”

Her dad opened the doors and her mother came to Charlotte’s side.

“Did you talk some sense into her?” she asked, looking from him to Charlotte.

“She wants to stay here. Sounds good to me.” Pete gave his ex-wife a what do you want me to do shrug. “She’s an adult. She made her choice,” he said and picked up his beer. “Now, can I go?”

“I should’ve known I’d get no moral support from you. You wonder why we divorced,” her mother said with disgust to his back.

“No, I don’t.” Pete pushed the door closed without turning.

Her mother took the empty chair.

“Are you in love with this ma---Atakan?”

“Neither of us exchanged ‘I love you’s.’ But if the time comes for me to say it, I think he should be the one to hear it first.”

“True. I ask because I worry. I want you to be happy.”

“I know. I am.”

“I have another suggestion, and I hope you’ll find this agreeable. Since you refuse to stay with us, can I at least take you shopping tomorrow for proper clothes?”

“Yes, if you let me take you to a local place for lunch and not the Four Seasons.”

“You’re on.”

“By the way, how did you find out about my incident?”

“The Director from the Ministry of Culture called us. He seemed concerned we’d contact the ambassador.” She reverted to her stern mom voice. “Although, I don’t understand why we had to hear the news from him and not my daughter.”

Because I knew you’d weird out, like you are now. Charlotte kept the thought to herself. “Because you’d worry needlessly.” She hugged her mother. “Thank you for loving me enough to worry.”

#

Both sets of parents left. Pete and Roni were headed for Sarnic, a restaurant next to the Roman Cistern Atakan recommended. Her mother and Frank opted for room service at their hotel. Nick stayed and joined Atakan in the kitchen while Charlotte walked her parents to the street.

“So, are we okay?” Nick asked Atakan.

“We’re okay.”

“You mentioned a sister. Is she older or younger than you?”

“Younger.”

“Does she have that dark hair, dark eyed, exotic look like I see here? Just curious.”

“She looks like a married woman with two children and another on the way,” Atakan said, taking two more beers from the refrigerator.

“Gotcha.”

Atakan leaned back against the counter. “How long are you here for?”

“A week.”

“She has a single friend,” Atakan said with a lopsided grin, “Who looks like a Spanish actress. The actresses name escapes me. She starred in a movie set in the Sahara where men were searching for treasure. She played a W.H.O. doctor.”

“Penelope Cruz?”

“Yes, that’s her.”

“Nice.”

“I’ll speak to my sister.”

Chapter Seventy-Eight

Charlotte kissed Nick goodbye and closed the door.

Atakan handed Charlotte her unfinished glass of wine. “Your family is satisfied with your decision to stay here?”

“Yes. I’m hanging with my mom tomorrow. I’m getting together with my dad, Roni, and Nick the day after. I took the liberty of saying you’d come with me.”

“I’d be pleased to spend time with your family. If they like, I can show them the sites in Istanbul.”

“That’s good, because I already volunteered you.” Charlotte leaned in to give him a kiss on the cheek.

Atakan took her face in his hands and tipped her head and kissed her on the lips. Everything good and bad faded from her thoughts, family, Tischenko. There was only Atakan. Weeks of buried, pent up lust surfaced. He kissed her harder. He shared her heat, and it thrilled her. She took his air, letting his warm breath fill her lungs.

Atakan pulled away.

“What’s wrong?” Charlotte asked, confused.

“Is this what you really want? The emotional turmoil you suffered maybe influencing your judgment tonight that will bring regrets in the morning. Be sure.”

“I wanted this...you, before Tischenko. I want you now. Gluttonous me, in the morning, I’m going to want you more.”

She kissed him to show him how much and to make up for those days she couldn’t.

His fingers tunneled into her hair, teasing the fine strands along her neck, tickling her earlobes. Then, his hands were all over her.

He tugged on her shirt never moving his mouth from her lips. Charlotte raised her arms, regretting the momentary separation as they broke the kiss to toss the shirt aside. He unzipped her jeans and slipped his hands inside to cup her ass and press her to him.

She rubbed herself against him and rode his thigh as he walked her toward the bedroom, his body hard pressed to hers.

She sighed, a hushed cry of frustration as she fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. He stopped her, taking her hands between his.

“Charlotte--”

“Shh, no more questions.”

Unzipping him, she moved her hand down inside his slacks. His chest vibrated with a low groan as she palmed his balls and thumbed the tip of his dick.

He was kissing her chin, her jaw, nibbling at her lips with tiny bites, his hands busy with his shirt. Unbuttoned, he tossed it to the side.

She dragged her nails down the soft hair on his chest to his waist. She dropped to her knees and tugged on his pants, sliding them over his thighs to the floor. Tischenko suddenly invaded her senses. She tasted the peppery burn of the vodka in her mouth. The salty, sweat smell of his groin returned. She felt the sharp teeth of his zipper scratching the skin of her collarbone. Once more, she suffered the fear of knowing every touch of Tischenko’s brought her closer to death. She began to shake.

Atakan gently tipped her head back. “It’s just us two, Charlotte, only us. Let him go.”

She smiled and nodded. “Yes, just us.” Her shaking stopped.

Atakan stepped out of his slacks and kicked them away. He pulled her to her feet and knelt in front of her. He eased her jeans off and helped her step from them, one foot at a time. He kissed her thighs and made his way up to her abdomen. He kissed one hipbone and blew warm breath on the wet spot. His fingers picked at the edge of the taped bandage over her stitches below the other hipbone.

She realized his intention.

“Don’t.” Charlotte tried to push him away, but he resisted.

“You must not think of it as his mark or you’ll never be free of him,” Atakan said, peeling the bandage off. “It is only a wound, no worse than a bad coral cut. A wound that will heal.”

He kissed her stitches, her belly, her breasts as he stood to kiss her lips again as passionately as before. All she knew was Atakan, his scent, his touch, his taste.

“Make love to me. Now. I want to feel alive.”

Atakan pushed her back onto the bed. He hooked her legs over his shoulders. He slid one palm under her hips and lifted her to take him deep.

Her breath caught with the first powerful thrust. He withdrew, only to drive into her again and again. He moaned words she didn’t understand. With each word the thrusts grew more urgent. She clamped onto his shoulders hard, riding the forceful strokes. His rhythm was hers. Her hips rose. She held him tight inside her, lost to everything but the feel of him.

#

They lay quiet, their breathing slowing. She ran her hand down her torso, slippery with perspiration and smiled. Charlotte reached over and stroked Atakan’s chest, damp beneath the hair.

She moved down and kissed his thighs, like he’d kissed hers. She’d loved it. When he groaned, she teased his legs apart and sucked his upper, inner thigh.

“I’m giving you a hickey.”

“Hickey...a strange word for something so pleasurable,” he said, playing with her hair.

She moved to the other thigh.

“You’ll have a matched set,” she said and slipped her hand between his legs to cup him. She stroked and teased the erotic area with a feathery touch.

He drew her up and rolled onto his side to kiss her softly on the lips, then deeper, fervently.

“Guzelim,” he whispered.

“What does that mean?”

“Beautiful one.”

He turned her onto her stomach. Straddling her, he raised her arms above her head and held her by the wrists.

“Guzelim,” he murmured. The words tickled against the nape of her neck as he kissed the length of the indent. She shivered when he first kissed then bit a line from her neck to the top of her shoulder. He released her wrists and nudged her legs forward so she was on her hands and knees. Careful not to touch her stitches, he wrapped his hands around her hips and held her tight. Then, he took her again.

Chapter Seventy-Nine

Her mother feigned a calm, interested posture as they’d entered the market. Charlotte smiled. The pretense was laughable. The wide eyes, the immediate death grip on her purse, as they stepped from the bright sun into the dimly lit bazaar gave her mother away. Outside were high-rise buildings, traffic noise, and concrete sidewalks. The modern world.

Inside it was much the same as centuries earlier. Vaulted ceilings ribbed with wood darkened by age covered avenues of stalls. Merchants displayed their wares the way they had for generations. Only the jewelers chose the security of protective glass cases. Elaborate patterned rugs hung from iron crossbars. Embroidered linens of exquisite Turkish cotton were stacked on wooden crates and shelves along the cobblestone lanes. Baskets of spices from the near and middle east were set out. The fragrance of cardamom, and cumin, and curry, filled the air. Nuts and other specialties shared what remained of useable space. Local shoppers and tourists crowded the aisles. Questions and answers in Turkish, English, German, and an assortment of other languages were exchanged as they passed.

Progress was slow through the crush of bodies. From the start, her mother looped her arm through Charlotte’s and held tight. Every time a vendor stepped to close, hawking his goods, she jumped.

“What did you think?” Charlotte asked.

They stepped outside the market’s arched waterside entrance and walked to the taxi stand. The parked cabs sat empty with the windows open. The hot afternoon sun beat down on the square. All the drivers had taken refuge on the shaded stairs of the Yeni Mosque.

“It was very nice. I liked it.” Blinking, her mother put on her sunglasses.

That was a pleasant surprise. Charlotte thought the best she’d get was, “it’s all right” or the noncommittal, “it’s different.” It’s different was her mother’s code for, “I hate it.”

They’d eaten at Pandeli, one of Charlotte’s favorite restaurants. Her mother hesitated to enter the tucked away restaurant. She questioned their safety as Charlotte led her up the hidden stairs off the entrance to the busy Spice Market.

“Pandeli is a very popular spot with excellent Ottoman cuisine. We’re fine. Trust me.”

When they approached the first taxi in line, a middle-aged man called out “merhaba” and waved. A dozen pigeons flapped their wings and hopped out of his path as he jogged over.

Charlotte gave him her mother’s destination in Turkish.

Her mother climbed into the taxi and then motioned her to bend closer. She glanced sideways at the driver and tilted her purse so Charlotte could see inside. In the side pocket, she had a wad of mixed money.

“What’s the exchange difference between Lira and Euros again?”

Charlotte explained and asked, “Can I borrow a hundred Euros?”

“Don’t be silly. I’ll give you as much as you need.”

“No, I’ll pay you back later in the week.”

“If you wanted something, you should’ve told me and I’d have bought what you liked.”

“This is just a loan for walking around money.”

Her mother handed her the Euros and they arranged to meet in two days for dinner.

Charlotte waited at the curb until the car was out of sight then returned to the market. She’d seen something special she wanted and didn’t need her mother around when she bought it.

“Which do you like, lady?” The shop keeper smiled and waved a hand at the various styles and colors he offered.

“The red one in the front.”

He used a long pole with a hooked end to snag the hanger and bring her choice down from the display. Two couples of older tourists stopped to watch, eyeing the outfit, then Charlotte.

“You aren’t really going to wear that?” one of the women asked in a strong Boston accent.

“If it fits, definitely.”

The woman looked surprised. “You’re an American.”
Charlotte nodded.

“I’d have guessed something else,” the woman said and then walked away with her friend. The men gave Charlotte the once over. One winked and they trailed after their wives.

“Do you have a place I can try this on?”

The merchant pointed to a beaded curtain at the back of the store which offered little cover from view.

Charlotte parted the beads and undressed.

Chapter Eighty

Charlotte slipped off into the bedroom. Atakan had stretched out on the sofa. He was absorbed in a close match between two local soccer teams on television.

She dressed with one ear toward the living room, listening for him to get up and interrupt her. The plan required surprise.

She’d chosen the red costume because it rode the lowest on the hips. She adjusted the harem outfit to fit her exactly how she envisioned. It took a couple of tries working the top for maximum cleavage exposure. The bustier, a spangled bra-like piece was made to lift and separate the wearer’s boobs. Not the effect she wanted. Bending at the waist, she hauled, and pulled, and tugged, until those babies looked like two ripe peaches collided.

The bottom went on and fit like she was born to wear it. While Atakan was at work, she’d taken manicure scissors to the attached satin panty and cut it away. No place for modesty in her plan. Now, the bottom consisted of a belt of sequined rows and one of gold coins. The skirt was layered chiffon panels slit up to her thighs. A metallic ribbon of gold and silver threads banded the panel’s edges.

She turned her back to the mirror and watching over her shoulder, gave her tush a couple of shakes. She shimmied faster, liking the way the coins jingled and sparkled in the light. She added some hip action with a couple of rolling figure eight moves. She loved the way the bright ribbon embellishment looked iridescent as she swayed.

Charlotte closed the door to the bathroom to do the last. The final touch was the veil and headpiece. The headpiece had a band of red velvet and an attached sheer red veil to her shoulders. One row of shisha mirrors, two rows of tiny chains and beads dripped from the velvet band to her eyebrows. She fixed the headpiece so it sat straight and then hooked the veil that covered her nose and mouth over her ears. She tipped her head from side-to-side, then up and down. She experimented to see which angle bounced the most light off the shishas.

She turned and examined herself in the mirror and gave her hips a few shakes again. The coins tinkled nicely when she managed to roll her hips and make her belly vibrate at the same time. She practiced the move several times until she was confident she had it down.

Looking good.

She pulled the Suhaila Salimpour’s belly dance CD she bought at the shop from her purse and opened the bedroom door a crack. Atakan was still on the sofa, holding a beer that rested on his stomach.

“Atakan, I have a surprise. Put the remote on mute and close your eyes.”

“Now? My team is in scoring position.”

“Yes, now.”

He mumbled something she didn’t hear and it took him a few seconds to do what she asked.

Silence came from the living room.

“Are your eyes closed?”

“Yes.”

Charlotte tiptoed out, careful not to make the coin belt jingle. She put the CD on and fast forwarded to the haunting melody, “The Capture.” The song started. Charlotte picked up the rhythm. She’d practiced dancing earlier in the afternoon too.

“You can open your eyes now.”

Atakan stared for a long moment as she slowly moved his direction. He looked her up and down, and up and down again, before his gaze landed on the coins that tinkled and danced low on her hips. He swung his legs around and sat straight.

She edged forward, to within arms reach.

The beat increased.

Atakan’s gaze moved to her eyes. “Dance closer.”

She did.

He wrapped his hands around her hips and drew her onto his lap. She straddled him, slowing the rhythm of her movements, exaggerating the hip action. He removed the veil and pulled her head down to kiss her.

Against his lips, she whispered, “Sultan...”

Chapter Eighty-One

Charlotte looked forward to seeing where Atakan worked. She envisioned something ornate, like the Ottoman style buildings along the Bosphorus.

Ironically, the building that housed the Istanbul division of the Ministry of Culture reflected none of the country’s varied architecture. The nondescript ten story structure could’ve been a government building in dozens of different countries. Situated on a side street off Taksim Square, it had a view of nothing noteworthy. The view out or down was the same, business rooftops and congested traffic.

Charlotte, Nick, her father, and stepmother Roni, signed the visitor’s log and took the elevator to the top. The entire floor belonged to the Ministry. They followed Atakan’s directions to his area, passing several offices on the way.

“How’s my hair?” Charlotte smoothed the sides where the wind had blown it around.

“Your hair is fine. You look great, Case,” Roni said.

“Does my lipstick still shine?”

“Yes.”

“What about my dress? Did I get too wrinkled in the taxi?”

Roni smiled. “I think I see what’s going on with you.” She tapped Charlotte’s father’s arm. “Pete, wait here. Give us a moment.”

Roni and Charlotte stepped a few feet away, out of earshot.

“Why are you so nervous? Atakan’s seen you looking sweaty and gritty, and wet, and without makeup. The man is genuinely attracted to you. That was evident the other night when we met. Where is this anxiety coming from?”

“As you pointed out, he’s only seen me messed up, or ugged up. He’s never seen me prettied up. I want to make an impression.”

With that objective, the day before she’s shopped for and found the perfect dress. The elegant but simple off the shoulder sheath of sapphire blue silk hugged her statuesque frame. When she moved, the acetate lining rustled softly against the silk. So, feminine, Charlotte thought, walking from mirror to mirror in the dressing room, listening to the whisper of material.

She searched and found a pair of leather, open-toed heels that matched the blue of the dress and didn’t hurt her feet. She hated painful shoes, no matter how sexy they looked. She’d pampered herself with a manicure and pedicure at the Four Seasons salon. There was a flash of cherry red now where her toes peeked out. A flirty touch. Her short fingernails weren’t suited for red and went with the pale pink the manicurist suggested.

That morning, she’d applied multiple layers of Dior’s Noir mascara. She’d purchased three different lipsticks at the salon. She tried and wiped off each before settling on a light berry shade. Naked, she misted herself with Guerlain’s oriental scented perfume, Samsara.

“Trust me, Case, you’ve nothing to worry about. He’ll all but drool when he sees you,” Roni said, hugging her.

They joined her father and Nick and continued on.

“Charlotte,” a woman’s voice called out.

She stopped and turned as Ermine stepped into the hall.

“Ermine, how nice to see you again.”

The possibility she’d encounter Ermine had occurred to her. A chance meeting wasn’t a worry anymore. Atakan made it clear his limited interest in Ermine was over. Not to mention, this time Charlotte wasn’t looking like something that washed up on the beach.

Charlotte introduced Ermine to her family.

“I assume you’re here to see Atakan. I’ll take you to his office.” Ermine led the group towards the end of the corridor. “I heard you are staying with him,” she said as they walked.

If Atakan told her she would’ve said so. She was fishing.

“You don’t work in the same office? I thought you were a secretary in his sector,” Charlotte said, dodging a direct response to Ermine’s statement.

“I’m no secretary. I am the supervisor of the financial division. I have a university degree in mathematics.”

“My apologies. I stand corrected.” She really hadn’t meant to insult the woman.

Ermine brought them into a large room with rows of desks. All had files and paperwork piled to the side, but no one was around.

“During the summer season most of our representatives are in the field,” Ermine explained.

She motioned to the back room partitioned off by a half wall with shuttered glass windows. “The investigative unit.” She turned to Charlotte’s family and wished them a “good visit in Turkey,” then left.

The office Atakan shared had six desks. Five were stacked high with books on art, pottery, religious symbols, and ancient civilizations. File folders and photos of artifacts shared the leftover space with computers and personal items. One desk was empty except for the nameplate, Ekrem Zeren.

Atakan stood when they entered and greeted them looking every bit the polished professional. He wore a black suit of Italian wool, expertly tailored to his swimmer’s build and a glacial white shirt. His black and gold paisley tie was the perfect striking addition to the stark conservative suit.

Atakan came around the desk. His straight hair was combed back, revealing a smooth wide forehead remarkably undamaged by the sun. He shook hands with her father and Nick and gave Roni a single head bow. Then, moving to join Charlotte, he took her hands in his and kissed her on the cheek.

“You look especially lovely today.”

“I hoped you’d notice.”

“Always.”

Iskender glanced up from his monitor. He rose and came over to her.

“Miss Dashiell, how good to see you. Atakan tells us you’re well.”

Charlotte’s cheeks heated seeing Iskender again. The last time he saw her, she was naked on Tischenko’s bed.

“I’m doing very well, thank you.”

“Please, let me introduce your family to our Istanbul team,” Atakan said. “This is Iskender.” He gestured to the others at their desks. “Halim, Cengis, and Erten.”

“Where’s Ates?” Charlotte asked.

“He’s in court with the paperwork on Ursula and Abassian. He’s still assigned the other unit but will be transferring next week to replace Ekrem.”

“They were with Atakan in the Ukraine helping to rescue me,” Charlotte told her father.

“Our family owes you a deep debt of thanks. I’d like to extend an invitation to all of you to visit us in Chicago as our guests,” he said.

“You come to Chicago and I guarantee I’ll show you a fun time,” Nick added and handed each is business card.

“Allow me to show you some of the nature of our work.” Atakan stepped to a large Google Earth map of Turkey on the wall. Colored push pins dotted every region of the country.

“The green pins are known archaeological sites. Ones with current excavation projects are in blue. The black pins are sites organizations have petitioned the Ministry for permission to work.”

“What about the red and purple pins?” Charlotte asked.

“The red are sites already heavily damaged by looters. The purple are sites in grave danger of being plundered. There’s little we can do about the purple or red ones,” Atakan said, gravely.

“Lack of money and manpower, right,” Roni said. “How unfortunate.”

Atakan nodded and moved to a bulletin board. “Here we post the latest information from Interpol and other agencies. We track the known smugglers and their past or potential buyers. As you see, several terrorist organizations are listed. The sales of stolen artifacts are one of a number of illegal activities they generate funds from.”

“We check eBay daily too.” Iskender angled his computer monitor so they could see the screen. He flipped through pages of everything from fossils to rare coins to artifacts for sale.

“It doesn’t dawn on thieves selling illegal items, we have the Internet.”

“Fascinating work. It’s an education seeing how serious the looting situation is and how difficult it is to control,” her father said.

He moved away back toward Atakan’s desk.

“I’d like to talk about Tischenko,” he told Atakan.

“Please sit. What would you like to know?”

“Charlotte tells us, he escaped.”

“Yes. The Ukrainian police searched the woods on foot and with helicopters. He grew up in the area and knows the forest better than the authorities. We believe he had a cache with money and probably a different passport buried nearby. A man like him usually does.

“We think he managed to enter Russia. Interpol will send a bulletin if he enters the EU countries.”

“Russia is on the Interpol network too,” her father said.

“The Russians interact with Interpol when it suits them. In their eyes, Tischenko is a brother. He fought with them in Chechnya. It wouldn’t be difficult for him to get through passport control there. He gives the guards a couple bottles of vodka. He talks about the old days. They laugh, they smoke, and they wave him through. From Moscow, he can go to ground in many places.”

“The bastard’s likely sitting on the beach in Cuba or Venezuela waiting for things to quiet down,” Nick said.

“Do you think he’ll come after my daughter again?”

“No. Kryianos is dead. With no one paying him, he had no reason to pursue her.”

“You said the Greeks had a theory why he killed Ekrem and Heather.” Charlotte was curious. “Did you hear yet?”

“Yes, this morning,” Atakan said. “They found pictures of Ekrem and Heather at Kryianos’s office. They also found a diary that belonged to his dead daughter.”

“Let me guess, revenge?” Charlotte asked.

Atakan nodded. “They speculate Kryianos blamed Ekrem for her death. When he ended their relationship, it triggered her suicide. He hated Heather too, because Ekrem’s father approved of her.”

Atakan tidied paperwork on his desk and refused to make eye contact with her as he spoke.

“You know...” Charlotte smiled at Atakan, enjoying his discomfort. “As I recall, the theory they were killed because someone had an issue with them personally was presented. But, at the time, that theory was shot down.”

“Many ideas are floated during an investigation, as I’m sure your father and brother can tell you.” Atakan shot her a don’t say it look.

“That’s true, Case,” Nick chimed in.

“Kryianos’s phone records revealed several calls from Mr. Snow’s business partner, Aaron Waterman. Charlotte is aware of this and I’ve advised the Snows,” Atakan said.

“I spoke to Frank. He’s dissolving their partnership,” Charlotte said.

“The American authorities interviewed Waterman. He stated they were negotiating the sale of part of Kryianos’s collection. We are satisfied with his explanation and that he knew nothing of Kryianos’s activities here,” Atakan said.

“Sounds reasonable to me,” he father said.

Atakan turned to Roni and Charlotte. “If you’re ready, Iskender and I are pleased to show you the famous city sights. We’ll start with Topkapi Palace. We’ll visit the storage rooms first where many more treasures not seen by the public are kept.”

Everyone stood to leave. Atakan pulled Charlotte aside. “Good news. Once your family returns home, you and I leave for Bozburun. Refik felt guilty after your incident. By way of apology, he’s saving entry into the last section for you.”

“We will join you directly,” Iskender said as Charlotte and her family stepped into the outer office. “Atakan, a moment please.”

“Yes?” Atakan asked, shutting the door part way. Iskender obviously had something private to speak to him about.

“Sooner or later, Tischenko is coming after you. His desire to send you that message by carving his initials on Charlotte is the only reason he didn’t kill her outright,” Iskender said.

“I know this,” Atakan acknowledged.

“Does Charlotte know the danger you’re in?”

“No. Say nothing. I don’t want her frightened. I don’t believe he’ll use her to get to me again. Next time, it’ll be him and me alone. One day, he and I will end this vendetta.”

Chapter Eighty-Two

Bozburun

“This is like being inside a Bunsen burner.” Charlotte tipped her head back and poured the remainder of her bottled water over her face.

She, Atakan, Talat, and Uma huddled in the shade of an olive tree and waited for the shuttle to the Suraya.

“The whole week’s been blistering with no breeze,” Talat said.

“We’ve had bad heat waves here all summer. Nothing like this though,” Atakan said and wiped the sweat from his face with the crook of his elbow.

“Finally, the boat.” Charlotte jerked her head in the direction of the shuttle.

Now that the moment had come for her to enter the unexplored part of the hold, she was filled with mixed emotions. As long as they hadn’t verified the cargo inside, she could imagine the hold contained the proof she sought. Speculation was easier than finding out the truth, if that truth proved her wrong.

She was quiet on the ride over as the other talked in the background. Onboard the Suraya, the foursome slipped their fins and gloves on and proceeded to the dive platform.

“Charlotte...”

She pushed her mask up onto her forehead and leaned close to hear Atakan who spoke low.

“I hope we find your proof, not only for what it means to my country but for what it means for you.”

“You’d have to stop calling me crazy woman.”

“I’m confident, given time, you’ll find something else equally crazy to debate.”

“Most definitely. Shall we?” She pulled her mask down and jumped into the water.

#

Atakan held the light while she located the entry between Eris and Athena’s heads they’d seen previously. He handed her the small lamp.

Charlotte would examine the hold before lighting the way for Atakan to enter. If too confined for them to work together, she’d fix the lamp and exit. He’d have light for photography. When he finished, he’d bring the lamp with him.

Charlotte swam through the narrow slot between the broken planks still attached to the hull and above Eris. She took care the lamp cord didn’t get tangled on the sharp wood.

Light bounced off the magnificent work, illuminating the space like a false sun. She stood awestruck by the golden chariot. She wished for more room to step back for a bigger view. She couldn’t wait until Atakan saw it, which reminded her to signal him there was only space for a solo diver.

After sending the message, she checked her time, at eight minutes she’d trade places with him. The front of the chariot had an inordinate amount of detailed metal work. She’d inspect the entire cart first and come back to the front.

She examined the frame, working her way to the rear. The axle, wheels, even the spokes were all gold, like the chariot’s body. She lay on her stomach and lit the underside of the cart’s floor. It was gold too.

Who owned you, she wondered, looking for any identifiers as she swam to the rear. Did you grace a royal household, a prince’s courtyard?

Although an accurate replica, it wasn’t built to scale. She estimated it was half the size of a standard single man chariot. Her assessment was a best guess. The confined environment might be affecting her perception. The next team would conduct an accurate measurement.

The tapered flanks were the other noticeable difference in structure. The sculptor had bent them inward rather than straight like on a real cart. She turned sideways to squeeze through the rear opening. The wider interior allowed her to stand normally, like the charioteer.

She scanned the bowed front and flanks with the lamp, but couldn’t find markings that indicated origin. Along the top, the quality of workmanship was exceptional. The ornamental edge was made to look like a rope and was bordered along the bottom in pea size beads of gold. How long did it take the artisan to add this one element of decoration?

She closed her eyes and imagined herself a Trojan charioteer seeing the sails of the invading armada. Row after row of warships anchored in Besik Bay. The dark image brought new poignancy to a Homeric passage that remained in her memory after one reading--Hektor’s farewell to his wife, Andromache.

“No man, against my fate, sends me to Hades. And, as for fate, I’m sure no man escapes it, neither good nor bad man, once he’s born.”

She opened her eyes and pictured Achilles in his God forged armor, greatest of Greek warriors and hero of Homer. Achilles enraged, riding to the gates of Troy for revenge. Hektor riding to meet the challenge.

“I shall not shun him, but will fight him, to fall or to conquer.”

Charlotte shook off the sadness the speech always brought. She stepped from the inside and came around to the front. The face of the horseshoe shaped cart bore a distinctive decoration, unusual even for a symbolic chariot. She dropped to her knees and wedged the lamp in the sand for a closer look.

An emblem was molded onto a background design giving it a relief effect. The device was of a chariot driven by a helmet-less warrior. His unbound hair touched his collarbone and war bands encircled his powerful upper arms. The artist hammered and etched defined muscles into his biceps and endowed him with broad shoulders. A breastplate covered his wide chest. Intricately carved onto the armor was a sight meant to intimidate of a snarling lion crouched over a dead stag. Reins in one hand, in his upraised other arm, the warrior held a spear aloft, ready to strike. An additional gold strip lay across his torso from his shoulders to his pleated kilt where a sword hung.

The cart was pulled by a lone, large horse. His front hooves off the ground, nostrils flared, his metal mane wild, windblown, as though he traveled at a full gallop. Like his master, the strong muscles in his neck and chest bulged.

Behind the warrior emblem, was the city he fought for, a walled kingdom, with an engraved hilltop citadel. At his feet, squiggly lines peaked in the middle radiated out. They resembled birds in flight. She’d seen similar drawings painted on pottery. Waves. They were the choppy waters of the Hellespont, the name the ancients gave the Dardanelles.

Troy.

In her heart, Charlotte knew she was looking at an artist’s rendition of Troy. The warrior was Hektor.

There was a loud groan. The chariot swayed and the seabed beneath gave a hard jolt. She lost her balance and quickly put her hand down as she tipped to the left. Everything seemed to happen at once. She didn’t recognize the movement for what it was, other than a large object coming toward her. Instinctively, she pushed off the bottom and kicked away as the statue of Eris landed where she’d knelt. A cloud of sand filled the air. Then, the statue of Athena fell across the space she originally entered.

Aftershock.

A low rumble continued through the wreck now. The deep, rolling noise grew louder. Charlotte swam back to the lamp and grabbed the light. With the two guardian statues toppled, she kicked fast and shot through the newly unobstructed opening above them. She, Atakan, and Talat ascended to join Uma at the decompression station.

Murk from the churning seabed engulfed the wreck. From the station, they watched as the stern broke free of the hull and slid down the slope.

Atakan held her face in his hands as the best offering of proof for her theory sank out of sight. His firm grasp stilled her subconscious head shaking, her wish to deny the fact. A downward motion with the flat of his hand, part of their code, made her cognizant of the thousands of bubbles surrounding her. She was burning through her air. She nodded and slowed her breathing as the stern disappeared.

Chapter Eighty-Three

“Will you search for it in the off season?” Charlotte asked Refik.

“No. It’s in deep water. You know our limitations. Even using special equipment, searching for it isn’t worth our time.”

“What about the golden chariot?”

“We’ve recovered an enormous amount from this ship. We have many wrecks off our coast. Spending valuable resources for the little more, however magnificent, is a waste. Sorry.”

“I understand.” Charlotte did understand. Refik had to be practical.

“I’ll see you later, at dinner,” she said and left Refik’s office.

Atakan had sat in on the conversation but remained quiet. The Ministry wouldn’t interfere. Without proof the chariot was Trojan, the government had no interest in a partial wreck.

Charlotte hiked up the hill, wanting to sit alone with her thoughts and disappointment. She wrapped her arms around her knees, bent her head and cried.

“Tears? What hurts?”

She hadn’t heard Atakan approach.

“Nothing.”

“Yet, I see tears. This is not the Charlotte I know.” He sat next to her. “Are you crying because your thesis is no longer approved?”

She fingered away the tears from her cheeks. “No, I’m reconciled to the idea of changing my subject. I’ve more than enough alternate choices from this project.”

“Then, why are you crying?”

“You’ll laugh.”

“Probably.”

The wry honesty made her smile. It was so Atakan. In spite of her frequent pretense at annoyance, she enjoyed his sardonic humor. The first time they talked together here, she wanted to strangle him. She never imagined connecting to him in any way other than on a scientific level. She’d stomped down the hill certain they’d never become friends, let alone lovers.

She couldn’t pinpoint when exactly her thoughts about him changed. Now, three fast months later, she’d be hard pressed to name which quality she loved best. At Tischenko’s it was definitely courage and determination. Always evident were his ethics, his intellect, and his national pride.

She kissed him.

“I’m listening,” he said.

“I’m crying for Hektor.”

Atakan didn’t laugh. He didn’t say anything. He stared out toward the sea and watched the fishing boats coming in for the night.

“You think I’m being silly. You can say it.”

He turned to her. “No, I don’t. Hektor, whether real or fictional, was a brave man. Brave men deserve to be cried over.”

“Was that an indirect acknowledgment he might be real?”

He gave her his familiar exasperated you’re a crazy woman look. Then, the sarcasm left his face.

“We break camp soon. The season is finished by the end of the week. I guess you’ll go home to write your paper.”

“I haven’t thought about it,” Charlotte said.

“Why don’t you stay in Istanbul and complete the work? You’ll be close to the source material. Any questions you have Refik and I can answer or at least I’ll know someone who can.”

She didn’t know how to take the suggestion.

“Are you suggesting I stay for academic reasons? Or, are you inviting me to stay for you?”

“I’m asking you to stay here, with me, and for me.”

That’s all she needed to hear.

“Your wish is my command...sultan.”

#

“’T is true, ‘T is certain; man though dead retains part of himself: the immortal mind remains.”

Homer