"Today, when I was attacked, someone in a van hit me with a bolt of green light. It drained my strength. I think the same person attacked Lova when she went to get the carpet. Do you know who it was?"
"What did Lova say?"
"Lova thought she might be a djinn inhabiting a woman's body."
"Wouldn't Lova know if it was a djinn?"
The answer was such an obvious yes that I was annoyed I hadn't realized it before. "Why would she try to mislead me about this being?"
"That's a good question to ask yourself."
I tried to get the carpet to say more on the topic, but it refused.
"I'm afraid I'm not using the full potential of the carpet. When we were flying home from the island, I felt as if it had erected a shield to deflect the wind."
"Yes"
"Why?"
"You wanted it so."
"I want to fly over this city unseen. Can the carpet become invisible?"
"That's an advanced skill."
"But it can be done?"
"Yes."
"Can you teach me how to do it?"
"Keep experimenting. You will learn."
I had more questions—I was never done asking my questions—but I sensed it was done with me. I felt the presence behind the carpet withdraw.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
IT TOOK ME A WHILE to find a ley line that flew directly over the Sheraton. But in the end I was able to land the carpet on the roof. The view from the twenty-story building was beautiful—brightly lit city on one side, dark ocean on the other. I almost left the carpet on the roof to give it extra time to charge beneath the stars, but I was too paranoid to part from it.
I arrived at the hotel lounge before Mr. Demir and ordered a Coke. While waiting for my drink, I called my dad and told him I would be staying with Rini again. He didn't mind. He seemed tired, anxious to go to bed.
It might have been the danger I had faced—and had yet to face—but I felt the sudden urge to call my mom. I owed her a call. When my Coke came, I took a sip and then dialed my home number.
"Sara!" my mother squealed with delight. "I was just telling Sally and Alice you've been avoiding me. How are you?"
"I've been busy, Mom. I met a new friend, Rini. You'd love her. So what's new with you?"
My question may have appeared harmless, but directed at my mother, it was dangerous. She could rattle on for hours about what she'd done—or failed to do—in the last week. It didn't matter how inconsequential the act might have been. She told me about picking up milk at the 7-Eleven late at night because she had forgotten to get it during the day. She remarked on how much more the milk cost there than at a regular supermarket. She complained how the guy at the cash register spoke poor English and did not deserve the job. She swore that he was an illegal alien. My mother disliked anything illegal or alien, and somehow, when she combined the two words, they ended up sounding atrocious, like something better not talked about. Except that it was okay for her to do so because she talked aboute verything.
When I spoke to my mother, I did not need to respond. I just had to grunt occasionally. Twice since I had arrived in Istanbul, she had called and I had managed to go to the bathroom and return without her noticing.
I let my mother ramble for ten minutes when I suddenly thought to myself, This is ridiculous, There was an excellent chance I might die tonight, and here I was wasting time having another fake conversation with my own mother, the person who had given birth to me, who had brought me into the world. Sitting up abruptly, I told her to stop. To just stop talking.
She wanted to know what was wrong.
"It would take too long to explain," I said. "Just believe me when I say my world is falling apart. I don't want to chitchat about nothing. If we're going to talk, I want to have a real conversation, and if you can't do that, I'm going to hang up."
"Oh, Sara, don't be so dramatic. I'm sure whatever the problem is, it's not that serious. Tell me the truth. It's a boy you've met, right, not a girl."
"You're right. I have met a boy," I said.
"See, I knew it. And you just had your first fight and you think your whole world is falling apart."
"No. You're way off-base."
"Then what happened with him?"
"He's not important, not this second. I just don't want to talk about errands or what Alice said about Sally or why she's a fool to listen to Alice."
"Sara! This isn't like you. You're being awfully rude."
"I should've been rude long ago if being rude is what it takes to get you to act real. For once, let's talk about something important. Okay?"
"I asked if you wanted to talk about the boy." She added, "You're not spending the night with him, are you?"
I sighed. "No. And I don't want to talk about him."
"At least tell me his name."
"Amesh."
"So he's a Turk?"
"Yeah. I'm in Turkey, remember? The place is full of them."
"Oh dear," she muttered.
"Why did you marry Dad?" I asked.
"What kind of question is that?"
"An honest one. I mean, really, you two have nothing in common." I paused. I thought I heard her pouring herself a drink. She drank when she was nervous. What the hell, she drank every night. I continued. "Last week I asked him why he married you, and he said it was because he loved you."
"Good for him. That's why I married him."
"I don't believe either of you. Like I said, it's hard to imagine two more different people. Dad's a loner; he hardly speaks. You have to be surrounded by friends 24/7. You even talk in your sleep."
"Sara..."
"You can talk in a minute, Mom. I have another question. Have you ever been in love?"
"I told you, I loved your father."
"Then why did you two divorce?"
"He asked for one. I didn't want it. You know that."
"I didn't know that, but thank you for finally telling me. You didn't seem all that broken up when he left, though. It was like, after you went to the lawyer and Dad promised to take care of us financially, you didn't care if he left or not."
"That's not true!"
"Have you ever loved someone besides Dad?"
She hesitated. "Are you asking because you love this boy?"
"He's part of the reason, but he's not the main reason. I know this is going to sound cliché, but it's the truth. I want to know who you are so I can better understand who I am. Please answer my question."
"Yes." A very soft yes.
"Who was it?"
"I'd rather not say."
"You mean you're too embarrassed to say."
My mother was a long time answering.
"It was complicated, Sara. You see, I met Harry first."
"Before or after you met Dad?" I had never heard of a Harry.
"Before. We dated a few times, but that was all it took from my side. I fell madly in love. And I knew he cared for me as well. Then I introduced him to my sister."
"Aunt Tracy?"
"Yes. The four of us went away for a weekend, to go skiing. Tracy had another boyfriend at the time. I can't remember his name. But right from the start, I noticed something between her and Harry. He laughed at all her jokes. I felt sort of left out. He didn't laugh at any of mine."
It would have been cruel to interrupt and point out that she had never cracked a decent joke in her life.
"What happened?" I said.
"Harry and I dated another month before he came to me with the news. He said that he was in love with my sister. I was shocked, hurt, angry. I asked if he had been seeing her behind my back and he said no. He told me he had no idea if she liked him. But he wanted my permission to find out."
"Wow." I was stunned. "What did you say?"
"What could I say? I had seen the chemistry they had. But when I told her Harry wanted to date her, she refused. She said the usual things people say. She was my sister. She couldn't stab me in the back. She would feel too awkward. Bu
t all the time I could tell she wanted to go out with him. When I insisted that she have coffee with him, she said okay, coffee couldn't hurt." My mother sighed. "That was the end of that."
"Did they get married?"
"They got engaged, but they never married. The whole thing shook me up pretty badly. I was a mess."
"When did you meet Dad?"
"Two years later, and no, I didn't marry him on the rebound."
"But you were still in love with Harry?"
Silence. My mother didn't answer.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
She spoke in a soft voice. "I'm surprised you don't remember. Tracy and Harry were together a long time after you were born."
That caught me off-guard. I had visited Tracy often.
"How long after I was born?" I asked.
"He was with her up until the accident. That's when he left."
I almost fell out of my seat. Her remark made no sense.
"Hold on a second. That's impossible. I spent summers with Aunt Tracy. Every time I was able to get free, you let me go to her house. And I never once met a Harry."
"He was real. What can I say? But they were never married. He was like your father. He traveled a lot with his work."
"But when Tracy had her accident and went into that coma, he was never at the hospital. I would know; I was there all the time."
"That was a painful time," my mother said, as if that explained it.
"So he vanished as soon as she got hurt? That doesn't make sense. You don't leave someone you love."
"You don't know, Sara. Harry did love her. When she got hurt, he couldn't bear it. He said it was like a part of him died. He just left and we never heard from him again. To this day I have no idea where he is."
"Why can't I remember him?"
"You were awfully young."
"I was nine. No, I was ten. And I was eleven when you guys suddenly pulled the plug."
"We did not suddenly pull the plug. Her condition was deteriorating. There was no hope she would wake up again. Her doctors told us they had done all they could. Also, we were worried about you. She was lying in a hospital bed two hundred miles away and she was all you could think about. You don't remember, but you started having trouble at school. Half the time I couldn't get you to go. She was my sister and I loved her dearly, but the nightmare had to stop. We had to let her go so we could all start to heal."
My eyes burned. "You never told me you were going to kill her."
"We didn't kill her. The drunk driver who hit her killed her."
"But you could have warned me. Did you know I had bought a bus ticket to visit her? I bought it with the money I earned babysitting. I was about to leave when you suddenly showed me this urn of ashes and said, 'Hey, guess what, this is Aunt Tracy. Sorry to shock you like this but the hospital bills keep coming and she wasn't getting any better and...'"
"No one said a word to you about the hospital bills."
"I heard you and Dad fight about them at night. Look, I understand about Aunt Tracy. I think you could have handled her death better, but I believe you when you say the doctors felt it was hopeless. What I have trouble believing in is this Harry guy."
My mother sounded far off, lost in her own memories. "I understand. He was like a dream to me."
"Sounds more like a ghost. What was his last name?"
"O'Malley. Harold O'Malley. I'm not making him up. You can ask your father about him. Only..."
"I won't tell him you loved him, Mom. I'm not that dumb."
"Thank you, Sara." I could hear her crying, "Please, tell me about Amesh. I'm sure he's a wonderful person. I would love to hear about him."
"I'll tell you about him tomorrow," I promised.
For once my mother had nothing to say, except goodbye. Goodbye, Sara, take care. It was painful to break the connection this time, since it had taken fifteen years to establish.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
WHEN MR. DEMIR APPEARED, I could tell he was uncomfortable being in such fancy surroundings. He reminded me of his grandson that first afternoon at the Hilton. But I coaxed him into ordering a drink—he had mango juice—and we sat in overstuffed chairs in the corner, where we couldt alk.
"Your bump on head looks bad," he said, concerned.
I smiled. "You should see the rest of me."
"Why men attack you?"
He was a good man and I was tired of lying to him. So I told him an abbreviated version of what had really happened to Amesh and me, leaving out the island, of course, and now we had been gone for days. That part of our tale was too far out. He would never accept it.
Unfortunately, pretty much all of our story was bizarre. It was like choosing between daydreams, trying to figure out what to say. In the end I had to lie a little. I told him about the magic carpet, but I said it had led us to a treasure chest in the desert. I even let him peek at the carpet in my bag.
"I understand it's hard to believe," I said. "You won't really believe me until you see me fly away on it."
He thought to humor me. "You can show flying?"
"When I leave here from the roof of this hotel, you can watch if you want. Then you'll know for sure this carpet can fly."
He saw I was serious. His face filled with doubt.
"Why not talk of carpet before?" he asked.
"I thought it would be too much to absorb. Look at you now. You want to believe me but you can't."
He sighed. "It is strange story. And you keep changing."
"I'm sorry. The carpet really did lead us to the treasure."
"Talk about people who attacked you," he said.
"I have pictures of them on my cell." I called up the best set of photos and handed it over. Mr. Demir got a shock. He recognized two of them.
"I know them!" he said. "Jemal Lomal and Omer Sahim. Two of the boys who hurt Amesh."
Finally! Proof that what had happened last summer was connected to what was going on right now. Like the carpet had said, some of the players overlapped.
"There were four total, right?" I asked.
"Yes"
"Are the names Bora and Hasad familiar to you?"
He got another shock. "Bora Lomal and Hasad Sahim. The other two who hurt Amesh. Amesh told you their names?"
"No. The leader of the gang told me. He acted like your son had kidnapped Bora and Hasad. That's why they beat me. I wouldn't tell him where they were, or where Amesh was."
Mr. Demir was looking at me with fresh confidence. He saw I had been beat up and he saw I had pictures of the guys who had beat up Amesh. Even if he didn't believe in flying carpets, he had to believe that his grandson was out there with money and bad people were after him.
Mr. Demir also helped by supplying me with photos of the two faces that had been behind the ski masks—those of Bora Lomal and Hasad Sahim. How did I know it was them? They shared last names with the others. Indeed, I was confident I was looking at two sets of brothers.
Unfortunately, Mr. Demir remained stubborn. He refused to believe that Amesh had kidnapped anyone.
"He cripple. He has one hand," he said.
"Amesh has lots of money." I tried again. "He can hire help. When I saw him this afternoon, he spoke about finally getting revenge on these guys."
Mr. Demir kept shaking his head. "Amesh gentle soul."
"You're a gentle soul and this morning you said you wished these guys would burn. You never seriously thought of taking revenge on them because you didn't have the resources. Well, now Amesh does. I'm almost positive he's taken Bora and Hasad captive. I'm just not sure where he's put them."
"No. It is not true."
I saw I was not going to convince him. I asked if I could see the transcript of the trial. Mr. Demir handed over a cardboard box.
"Do you mind waiting while I study it?" I asked.
"Take time." He added sadly, "Nowhere to go with Amesh gone."
I was grateful the transcript was in two formats, Turkish and English. Since Becktar was an A
merican company, and was in a sense liable for what happened to Amesh, I was not surprised there was an English version.
Like in America, the transcript contained every word spoken during the trial. There were only a few people involved. Amesh. The four young men accused of cutting off his hand. The defendants' lawyers. Amesh's lawyer. The judge. Spielo. And Mrs. Steward and Mr. Toval.
I was relieved to see that my father was not listed.
The trial had been brief and to the point. The four young men swore they had been working at Mr. Toval's house the night Amesh was attacked—forty miles away from the job site, where Amesh was injured. They had witnesses who testified to this fact. Their main witness was Mr. Toval himself. Under oath, he supported their story.
It was Mr. Toval's testimony that swayed the court against Amesh. He was the president of the Middle Eastern division of Becktar. He was a rich and powerful employer. Why should he lie to hide such a ruthless act? The guys' lawyer asked this question repeatedly.
The irony was that in America, being called a rich and powerful employer would have made a jury suspicious of the man or woman. But in Turkey, wealth equaled credibility. By the time Amesh reached the stand, he had already been thoroughly discredited.
Mrs. Steward also spoke against Amesh. She sabotaged his character. She said he was not a hard worker. That he had lied about his age to get the job. And that he had snuck into the Shar Cave on the job site, a place that was off-limits to all but high-level executives.
I had to stop reading. Mr. Toval and Mrs. Steward were family friends. They were my father's friends. How could they tell such lies? Were they pressured by the company? That was the only excuse that made sense. Had Amesh won the criminal part of the trial, his lawyer could have sued Becktar for millions.
I spoke to Mr. Demir. "The Shar Cave. My father took me to that spot when he was giving me a tour."
"Did father take you inside cave?" Mr. Demir asked.
"No. A team of archaeologists was studying it. Their leader wouldn't let me inside. I know my father's been inside. He's an archaeological buff."
"Buff?"
"It's a hobby of his."
"Did he say there was temple inside?" Mr. Demir asked.
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