by K. T. Tomb
Ethan looked out over the metropolitan municipality of Izmir seeing it, but not really taking any of it in.
It wasn’t an entirely terrible city to be in but it was by no means Athens. The high rise commercial skyline competed fiercely with the cultural complexities of its people who seemed to be less than interested in being harried into the twentieth century by city officials and state government, who only saw the place for the profitable port city that it was. With a direct link to Greece and the greater Mediterranean by means of the Aegean Sea, it was certainly as suitable for commerce as could be expected.
It was easy to hide in Turkey. You could get anything you needed or wanted there, no matter how ridiculous or indulgent it might seem to someone from the West. Arms, security, permits, licenses, court orders turned in your favor, women, men, children, animals, boats, cars, entire buildings and the companies contained within them; whatever your heart desired you could have in Turkey as long as you could pay for it. Ethan had been raised in the culture of indulgence and his father was by no means a shining example of integrity or honesty. Ferdinand Doyle had someone in his pocket in every place that it was important to have one; the courts, the police force, the royal guard, the navy, tax administration, company regulation, local government, planning agencies. As a result everything came easily to them; not an inch of red tape in sight.
He heard the soft chime of the Austrian clock in the hallway and instinctively looked at his watch. It was just about tea time; Jasmine would soon bring in the cart with a kettle full of that distinctive Turkish çay, along with some sandwiches, cakes and pastries of course. There would be cezerye, baklava, revani and tulumba at the very least. Normally there wouldn’t be that much food but he had a few friends to entertain that afternoon.
He watched as Samir poured the tea that Jasmine had brought in. It wasn’t considered proper for a woman to serve tea to men unless it was in her own home. He poured the çay from the pot into a smaller decanter, dropped the two sugar cubes Ethan had asked for into it and swirled it until the sugar dissolved. Customarily, the çay would come to the table in a tulip shaped glass with the sugar cubes and a spoon on the saucer below it and was served scorching hot, but Samir understood that his foreign visitors would never be able to drink it like that, so he had made an artful demonstration of his cooling process. When the sugar had dissolved, he took another decanter and proceeded to pour the tea back and forth between the two containers in a similar fashion as they “pull” tea in Asian countries. When he was satisfied that it had reached an acceptable temperature, he poured the amber liquid into the traditional glass, placed it on a colorful saucer and served it. It was delicious; full bodied but not too strong and delicately spiced with cumin and cinnamon. Ethan’s guests were impressed with the fare and seemed to be enjoying themselves immensely, but it wasn’t long before he reminded them that there was business to be attended to.
“Hans, have you reserved the stationary carrier for us?”
“Yes, Mr. Doyle. It’s ours for a full week from Friday.”
“Why Friday? That’s three days away, why can’t we leave sooner?”
“It’s booked until then, Sir. You told me not to make your father suspicious and he’s quite covetous over those platforms.”
“Yes, you’re right. Very well then, Friday it is.” He took a sip of the tea and thought for a moment before continuing, “Milos, have you secured all the gear we will need to bring up those ships?”
“Yes, Mr. Doyle. We’ve got scuba tanks, the air compressor, wet suits and such. I also got all the rigging and winches we need to lift stuff to the surface and onto the platform.”
Ethan nodded approvingly, and then turned to the last man around the table.
“Jackson, Jackson, Jackson. What am I going to do with you?”
“I’m sorry, Ethan. My guys messed up. They nearly got caught and they didn’t even secure the map. But at least they got all their money and travel documents. That ought to delay them for a while, huh?”
Ethan laughed loudly and Jackson took it as a cue to chime in but as soon as he had he started to laugh as well, Ethan suddenly stopped and cast an ice cold look in his direction.
“The men you sent failed miserably and they are at the bottom of the Piraeus channel for that. Worse yet, now they know we’re here and they know that we know where they are as well. We didn’t get the professor’s map, so we still don’t know exactly where we’re going and what’s worse is Chyna Stone and her team are now in the wind. We don’t have a clue where they’ve gone. For all we know they’re diving Artemesia’s ship at this very minute.
“Do you have any idea of who we are really dealing with here, Jackson? Do any of you have a clue who we’re dealing with yet? Chyna Stone is as rich as Rockefeller, as resourceful as Bill Gates and as well connected as J. Edgar Hoover, without being actual F.B.I. herself, okay? So, do you think a measly five grand and some passports are going to stop her? Who followed them on the day of the break in?”
“I did, Mr. Doyle,” Milos answered.
“Where did they go, Milos?”
“The U.S. Consulate, Sir.”
“Yes, and how long were they there?”
“The entire afternoon Sir, almost seven hours.”
“Who gets full access to the U.S. Consulate and is allowed to be there well after closing hours?”
The three men shrugged at him and at each other.
“Listen, we are not dealing with some dorky, bespectacled, career student who spends her time following professors all over the world from one hellhole dig to another. We’re talking about a professional who graduated magna cum laude from Princeton, has brought up more lost treasure from the depths of this Earth that the three greatest archaeologists of all time combined and has successfully completed tactical training with the F.B.I., the C.I.A. and Mossad. She can shoot a man’s trigger finger off before he has a chance to pull and put an arrow through a bear’s eye at 300 yards. What I’m trying to tell you guys is that you need to know your enemy when you’re about to go to war and at present ours is no joking matter.”
He took up his cup and finished his now almost cold tea, refilling it from the kettle where the çay was now at a more acceptable temperature.
“Update me, Jackson. When will the students be delivered to the warehouse?”
“They already have been, Mr. Doyle.” he replied quietly, feeling rather well scolded.
“Well, at least one thing is on track.”
He stood and went to the living room picture windows, which framed the expansive view of the Izmir canal, as he looked out over the water he continued to sip his tea. Maybe he had also been too careless or too cocky and had underestimated Miss Stone. He probably should have taken the time to assemble a better team but now they knew too much and it was too late to start all over with fresh men.
He turned from the window and went to the large double doors at the entrance to the formal dining room, throwing them open so his team could see inside the room from where they were seated. Silently, they looked at the hostage bound hand and foot to a chair at the dining room table. A triumphant laugh bubbled up his throat and erupted from his mouth. He couldn’t help himself. It had been far too easy to turn the tables on Cartwright and his clueless, ragamuffin bunch of over inflated archaeological students. They were just so trusting and stupid and he had herded them into his trap like the witless sheep that they were. He had hoped that when she discovered that her friends were missing, Chyna Stone would assume that they had abandoned her little quest in Athens and she and her troupe would fly back home to New York, broken and defeated. It had been an ingenious plan, but hadn’t worked out the way he thought it would and that’s when he realized that Chyna Stone was a great deal more than he expected.
“Now, Cartwright,” he hissed glaring at the professor. “You are going to tell me everything you know about Artemesia of Doria and her fabled role in the Battle of the Heracleidae. More importantly, you’re going to tell
me where the wreck site is. I know you’ve figured it all out; you’ve been studying the history for years, mapping every story and following every lead and piece of information. Now, spill it!”
“I won’t tell you a thing, Ethan. You’re never going to find the wrecks, you don’t deserve to. Sooner or later you’ve got to learn that if you want something, you can’t go around taking what other people have got, you’ve got to earn it for yourself. In any case, it’s just a story.”
“Don’t lecture me old man! And don’t lie to me either! Just tell me what you know!”
Ethan kicked the chair sharply, knocking it and the professor over backward.
“I know that it’s just a story, Ethan. Over ten years of searching has taught me that dearly, but there is nothing there. It’s just something someone made up like the buried treasures of pirates.”
“That is pretty much what I expected you to say,” Ethan resigned. “It’s clear that you don’t intend to tell me anything voluntarily, but my friend Hans over there has a few ingenious ways of making people tell him what he wants to know and he would very much like to know where he’s taking us fishing this Friday. Hans, he’s all yours. Take him down to the warehouse and make him tell you what we need to know.”
Hans smiled a cruel smile and said, “Come on Milos, let’s take the professor for a little drive.”
Ethan watched them unbind him from the chair, gag him, and pull a black hood over his head. Then they cuffed his hands behind his back and led him out of the apartment. Jackson sat in the living room, looking stunned.
“Get out!” Ethan yelled at him. “Go find something useful to do. I still don’t have a map of where I’m going.”
Jackson scurried out behind Hans and Milos, terribly frightened by Ethan’s outburst. Smiling at Jackson’s reaction, Ethan turned and went back to gazing out the window. He knew the professor would be tortured for the information by Hans and Milos, but he didn’t care. It wouldn’t be the first time he had taken that route to get what he wanted. In fact, it was how he had made his start on it. Years before, when he was still a student at the Ankara University, he had attended a presentation given by a local historian/ treasure hunter named Amir bin Hassan about The Dorian Invasion.
He remembered the lecture and what had followed like it was yesterday and allowed the entire scene to play out in his mind with vivid detail:
“Now, the Dorian Invasion is thought to have taken place in about 1100 B.C., and according to the ancient Greeks, it involved a group of men from the North who spoke Greek, supposedly Doria, that invaded the Peloponnese. That included all the southern islands all the way to Crete. There could have been such an invasion, in which case it might explain the loss of the Mycenaean civilization and also what we now term as the Minoan civilization, but up until now we just didn’t have the evidence. The end of those civilizations led to a Dark Age about which we know very little except from archaeology. In the mythology of ancient Greece, the Dorian Invasion was even connected with the return of the sons of Hercules (Heracles), who we know today as the Heracleidae.
“What my aim is tonight is to show you that the Dorian Invasion was real. That the Heracleidae really did storm the seas to conquer and destroy the lives of the Mycenean and the Minoans but that it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. You see, for history to move forward, it has to repeat itself and in order to repeat itself, things must fall apart.
“For the theory of the Dorian Invasion to be plausible there are several details that must be taken into consideration. Firstly, the Heracleidae were not returning to a former home for which they were homesick, they were sweeping down upon the Peloponnesus in war, thus inviting the English translation of the original Greek text to be that of invasion. Secondly, we must prove these are the same people in action here. However, there seems to be a historical distinction between Heracleidae and Dorians. George Grote summarized the relationship as such:
“Herakles himself had rendered inestimable aid to the Dorian king Aegimius, when the latter was hard pressed in a contest with the Lapithae .... Herakles defeated the Lapithae and slew their king Koronus; in return for which Aegimius assigned to his deliverers one third part of his whole territory and adopted Hyllus as his son.
“According to the great Archaic Age poet and mythographer Hesiod, there was a steady decline from the age of Gold, to Silver, Bronze, Heroic, and finally, of Iron. The Dorian migration occurred during the Heroic Age. The Greeks claimed heroes as founders for all their most important cities. Perseus, for instance, was founder of Mycenae, in the Peloponnesus; Theseus was the heroic founder of Athens. In the ancient version of events, the Dorian Invasion meant the Heracleidaes, descendants of Hercules of Heracles (and Perseus), swept southward to reclaim land rightfully theirs. They attacked all the areas and cities of the Peloponnesus, except Arcadia, and they accomplished their conquest of the area within 3 generations. But here’s my theory; historians were just guessing at what they couldn’t possibly have known. They were trying to piece together the facts from shards of old stories and the reality of the civilization they were living in hundreds of years after the fact. There was no archeological proof for them to go on at that time, not like we have today. Everything Sir Evans found at Knossos disproves Grotes theory and leaves one burning question: How did such affluent, organized civilizations such as the Minoans and the Myceneans just vanish overnight? Throughout history, we have discovered civilizations that seemed to vanish from existence. What has been the number one cause of these phenomena? It’s been war! The Maya, the Harrapan, Angkor, the Tainos; it’s always been the same. Someone came in and annihilated them. The war that destroyed ancient Greek civilizations the first time around was the Dorian Invasion.
“The war on the mainland was nothing to write home about. The Peloponnesians were simple, farmer type people who lived a simple existence and the cities where the military forces were concentrated were few and far between. Possibly only Athens gave the invading Dorians a hard time. Their real challenges were the island states, starting with warlike Sparta and then followed by distant Crete. I’m only going to talk about Crete because it was over Crete that the most well know battle of the invasion was fought and where the Dorians had to employ the most cunning in order to conquer. The Battle of Heraklion.
“I’ll take some questions before I continue.”
Ethan had made sure to be the first to speak to bin Hassan.
“Mr. Hassan, you made mention that history has to repeat itself so therefore things must fall apart.”
“Yes, it’s true.”
“So, would you agree that part of proving that the Battle of Heraklion actually did happen, even though there’s hardly a thing about it in history books anywhere, is that the repeat of it can be found in the Battle of Salamis?”
“Oh, young man. What’s your name?”
“Ethan sir, Ethan Doyle.”
“Well Ethan Doyle, you are quite astute in your Greek history. That’s really quite a remarkable question. I would say that if we were to conclude that all history repeats itself then what we would be looking at here are two practically parallel events. They occur in two very different phases of Greek history and some one thousand years apart but we have one set of Greeks attacking another and completely wiping civilizations off the face of the Earth, we have the war’s pivotal battle being at sea and we have a woman who commanded the offending fleet, both were named Artemesia. Here’s my question to you Ethan Doyle: do you think the presence of women both named Artemesia is a coincidence? It’s rhetorical, but think about it for a while.”
The audience applauded. Abdul bin Hassan had them all eating out of his hands. Ethan had never been so intrigued listening to the speculations and theories of anyone before. It seemed that the guy really knew his stuff.
“I think you all know the story of Artemesia I of Caria and how she teamed up with Xerxes, King of Persia to crush the Greek resistance. If you don’t know that you’re probably studying in the wrong field. In
any case, there’s a movie coming out, go watch it!”
The audience laughed and applauded.
“I’m not going to tell that story. I’d like to talk about Artemesia of Doria, the traitoress. She married King Minos to infiltrate his kingdom so she could send information back to her father, King Ada. When they knew all they needed to know, Artemesia cleaned out King Minos’ treasure room, loaded up the three ships her father had given Minos as her wedding dowry and sailed out into the Aegean Sea. She didn’t get far before Minos’ pursuing ships caught up with her and they were forced to fight. Of course Artemesia’s ship crushed them but there may have been a storm or strong currents that took them North into the Mikonos archipelago. It is believed that this is where the fleet was either shipwrecked by reefs or sunk by storms but whichever way it went, they were never seen again. That was the battle that started the destruction of Crete and when the Minoans, fell so did the rest of Greece.”
Ethan had felt validated by bin Hassan’s lecture, all along he had known that there was something to all the speculation about the Dorian Invasion. He even remembered it making news a few years before he went to that lecture. The news had reported that a young Greek boy had found two gold coins washed up on the beach on the island of Fourni. The coin bore the griffin of Crete on one side and the head of a bull on the other. Salvagers had flocked to the area but nothing more was found there.
It had been effortless to pick bin Hassan up after his lecture; he hadn’t been able to resist the offer to take a ride in Ethan’s Bugatti. They cruised around Ankara for a while talking about history before deciding to stop at a popular cafe. Ethan ordered hookah for both of them and Turkish coffee. When Abdul excused himself to use the restroom, he poured the vial of rohypnol into bin Hassan’s coffee. An hour later, Ethan was being helped by concerned security guards to put him into the Bugatti.
“He just had too much to drink at the bar we went to before. I had hoped the coffee would sober him up but I guess it didn’t work. Thanks.” Ethan had told them convincingly.
