As he climbed aboard the Gulfstream IV, he glanced at his watch again and did a quick calculation. He knew he was in good shape. He would probably land in Rome slightly before Tess and Reilly reached Istanbul. The G-IV wasn’t just one of the handful of private jets that had the range to reach Rome without refueling; it was also faster than the massive, four-engined Airbus in which they were flying. He would have a bit of time to collect whatever equipment he needed to complete his mission and still be able to meet them wherever they were headed.
Taking his seat, he pondered again the dilemma Tess Chaykin presented. All the FBI really cared about was locking up Vance for the attack on the Met. She, on the other hand, was after something else; he knew that long after Vance was behind bars, she would keep on searching, turning over stones, looking for it. It was in her nature.
No, he had no doubt about it; at some point, after she had outlived her current usefulness, he would probably have to deal with this problem. A problem that had just been exacerbated by Reilly and his ill-advised decision to accompany her.
He shut his eyes and leaned back against the soft headrest of his plush swivel chair. He wasn’t worried in the least. It was an unfortunate complication he would simply have to deal with.
Chapter 53
They were at cruising altitude before Tess began to explain her findings to Reilly. “We were looking for a place that doesn’t exist, that’s all.”
They had managed to get a glimpse of the Manhattan skyline, shimmering in dizzying golden-blue hues from the setting sun, the Twin Towers even more notable now for their absence, the full scale of the catastrophe made even more visceral from the air. Then the red-tailed aircraft had banked and powered itself skyward through thin cloud cover, effortlessly reaching the clear air at thirty-seven thousand feet. Night would come quickly now as they rushed headlong into the approaching darkness.
“Aimard of Villiers was smart and he knew that the man he was writing the letter to, the master of the Paris Preceptory, was as smart as he was.” Tess was visibly excited about her discovery. “There is no ‘Fonsalis.’ There never was. But in Latin, fons is the word for ‘well’—not as in ‘feeling well,’ but the kind with water, like a wishing well—and salix means ‘willow.’”
“‘The well of the willow’?”
Tess nodded. “Exactly. And then I remembered that they were in enemy territory when Aimard wrote his letter. The village had been overrun by the Muslims, and it got me thinking—why would Aimard use the Latin name for the village? How did he know it? It was more likely he’d know the Arabic name for it, the name its conquerors used. That’s the name the goatherd would have given them. But Aimard wanted to disguise the name, in case the letter fell into the wrong hands and was eventually decoded.”
“So the village was called ‘The well of the willow’?”
“Exactly. It was common practice to name places after any geographic features they had.”
He looked at her doubtfully. Something in her reasoning seemed to bother him. “To do that, he had to speak their language.”
“He would have known it, or, if not him, one of the others with him. By the end of the Crusades, a lot of those knights were actually born out there in the Holy Land. They called them poulains. And the Templars had a strange affinity to some of the Muslims. I read that they traded scientific knowledge as well as mystical insights with them, and they were even said to have hired the hashasheen—their incredibly efficient, pot-smoking assassins—on a few occasions.”
He arched his eyebrows. “They hired their enemies’ assassins? I thought they were there to fight them.”
Tess shrugged. “You spend two hundred years in someone else’s backyard, sooner or later you make friends.”
Reilly acquiesced. “Okay, so what is it in Arabic?”
“‘Beer el Sifsaaf.’”
“Which you found by…?”
Tess couldn’t suppress a self-satisfied grin. “The journals of Al-Idrissi. He was a famous Arab traveler, one of the great cartographers of the period, and he kept extensive, highly detailed journals of his trips across Africa and the Muslim world, many of which survive to this day.”
“In English?”
“French, actually, but it’s not that much of a stretch.” Tess reached for her tote and pulled out a map and some photocopies she had made of the old book she had found. “He mentions the town and its pillaged church in one of his journals.” She opened up a map that was marked with scribbles and notes. “He passed through it, on his journey from Antalya, through Myra, and up the coast to Izmir. The coastal area there has an abundance of historic sites—Byzantine, Lycian…Anyway, his journal’s pretty detailed. All we need to do is follow his route and we’ll find the town—and the church.”
Reilly stared at the map. “Now that you’ve done it…what do you think the chances are of Vance figuring it out too?”
She frowned, then looked at him with dead-certain eyes. “I’d be amazed if he isn’t on his way there already.”
Reilly nodded. He was clearly of the same opinion. “I need to use the radio.”
He got up and headed for the cockpit.
BY THE TIME REILLY got back, Tess was well settled in, sipping the last of a glass of spicy tomato juice. She’d gotten him one, too. She watched him drink it, feeling a slight quiver at the idea of sitting there next to him, bound for a distant, exotic land, en route to adventure. If someone had told me just two weeks ago that I’d be doing this…She smiled inwardly.
He noticed. “What is it?”
“Nothing. I’m just…I’m still stunned that you’re here.”
“Not as stunned as my boss is, that’s for sure.”
Her jaw dropped. “You’re not AWOL, are you?”
“Put it this way. He’s not exactly thrilled about it. But since you didn’t know exactly where it is, and since the only way to figure it out was for you to be there physically…”
“But you didn’t know that before you got on the plane.”
He flashed her a small grin. “Are you always such a stickler for detail or what?”
She shook her head, amused by the revelation. So they were both going out on a limb. He wants to be here as much as I do. Which surprised her.
Watching him, she realized that she still didn’t know that much about the man behind the badge. That evening, when he had driven her home, she’d caught a few glimpses. His taste in music; his spirituality; his sense of humor, even if it was slightly silted over. She wanted to know more. Ten hours would provide ample opportunity for that—if she could manage to stay awake. Her eyelids felt like they weighed a ton. The exhaustion of the last few days was suddenly catching up with her. She shifted in her seat, nestling against the window while turning to face him.
“So how is it you can just hop on a plane at a minute’s notice?” The curling smile was back. “Isn’t there anyone back home I can bust your balls about, the way you lecture me about Kim?”
Reilly knew what she meant. “Sorry,” he teased. “I’m not married.”
“Divorced?”
“Nope.” Her look made him feel like he needed to expand on that. “A job like mine can be tough on partners.”
“Well, sure. If it allows you to hop on planes with girls you barely know—I wouldn’t want my husband doing that every day.”
He was glad she’d provided a way for him to back away from where that conversation was headed. “Talking about husbands, what about you? What happened with Doug?”
Her soft features hardened, her eyes betraying some regret and a tinge of lingering anger. “It was a mistake. I was young”—she groaned—“younger, and I was working with my dad at the time, not the most exciting of careers. Archaeology’s pretty insular. And when I met Doug, he was this brash, confident showbiz guy. He’s a charismatic bastard, there’s no denying it, and I was just carried away by it. My dad was well-known and admired in his field, but he was a pretty serious guy—a bit grim, you know? And controlling.
I needed to get out from under his dominance. And Doug was the way out. This in-your-face, highfalutin go-getter.”
“And you’re partial to highfalutin, are you?”
Her face scrunched inward. “No. Well, maybe I was. A bit. Anyway, when we were dating, he loved the fact that I also had a career. He was very supportive and interested. Then when we got married…he changed overnight. He became even more controlling than my dad was. It was like he owned me, like I’d been a collectible he wanted on his shelves. And once he got it…I was pregnant with Kim before I realized I’d made a mistake. I reluctantly took up my dad’s offer to join him on his dig in Turkey—”
“—this is the same trip where you first met Vance?”
“Yes,” she confirmed, “anyway, I went there thinking the time off would be good to mull things over, and when I got back I found out he’d been having an affair with the cliché of clichés.”
“The weathergirl?”
Tess let out a pained chuckle. “Almost. His producer. Anyway, that was it. I was out of there.”
“And you went back to using your maiden name.”
“It doesn’t exactly hurt in this business. Not that I wanted that creep’s name associated with mine any longer than I had to.” Far from hurting, it had gone a long way in helping her get the job at the Manoukian Institute. And that was why a potential discovery of this magnitude, which owed nothing to Oliver Chaykin or to being his daughter, might be the stroke that dissolved any lingering thoughts, in her mind and the minds of others, that she was anything other than her own woman.
Provided, of course, that she was the one who made the discovery.
Her eyelids fluttered. She was weary and needed some sleep. They both did.
She looked at him warmly. After a quiet moment, she just said, “Thanks.”
“For what?”
“For everything.” She leaned over, kissed him softly on his cheek, and pulled back. Outside, the stars felt close enough to touch, gliding by almost imperceptibly in the darkening sky. She pulled down the window shade and, turning over and closing her eyes, she felt herself drift away.
Chapter 54
By the time Tess and Reilly clambered down the metal steps and onto the tarmac at Dalaman Airport, it was midafternoon and they were both feeling frazzled. The few hours of sleep they had managed on the transatlantic flight had helped, but they could have used some real bed rest before continuing their journey. There was no time for that. Instead, they had added to their weariness by waiting three hours at Istanbul Airport before catching the short connecting flight to the south coast, from where they would begin their inland trek.
Reilly had spent part of the wait in Istanbul on his cell phone, briefing Aparo before having a heated conversation with Jansson, who was still unconvinced by Reilly’s rash decision to accompany Tess instead of hauling her ass in to Federal Plaza. The rest of the time was spent with the Bureau’s local legal liaison officer, a paunchy man called Vedat Ertugrul who had driven out to meet them and helped facilitate Reilly’s passportless entry into the country. Ertugrul had only days earlier been notified of the likelihood that Vance might be headed for his part of the world. He confirmed to Reilly that, so far, none of the possible entry points had reported anything, before going over logistical arrangements and support protocols. The FBI didn’t have any agents on permanent postings in Turkey. The nearest agents were currently in Athens, helping the local police investigate a recent car bombing. Relations with the Turkish government were at best strained, due to the tensions caused by the lingering turmoil in Iraq. Ertugrul assured Reilly that, if need be, he could probably arrange for a local police escort to join them in Dalaman. Reilly thanked him but declined the offer, preferring not to have to deal with language barriers and local bureaucracies. He asked Ertugrul to simply make sure they were informed of his presence on their turf. He’d keep in close contact and call in the troops if needed, although he suspected that this was something he would probably have to handle alone.
Reilly had also used the layover to pick up some more appropriate clothing. A small backpack in his hand now held his discarded work clothes and the paperwork Ertugrul gave him to use in lieu of a passport. It also carried an Iridium satellite phone he’d given him that, via the Department of Defense’s dedicated EMSS gateway in Hawaii, would keep Reilly connected to the outside world from virtually anywhere on the planet.
Also in there was his Browning Hi-Power handgun, for which Ertugrul had graciously provided extra clips and cartridges.
Tess had also used the opportunity to call her aunt’s house and speak to Kim and to Eileen. The call was a hard one to make. She missed Kim and felt it even more when she heard her voice on the phone, although knowing what a great time her daughter was having provided some solace. Telling her mother what she was up to, on the other hand, was a much harder exercise. Tess worked hard at reassuring her, resorting in desperation to telling her about Reilly being there with her—which only served to worry her mother even more. Why was an FBI agent accompanying her if it wasn’t dangerous, she’d asked? Tess had fumbled some explanation about her being there purely as an outside expert, then used an overhead boarding announcement as an excuse to cut the conversation short. After she’d hung up, she’d felt bad about the call. But she knew there was nothing she could have told her mother, short of not telling her she was away at all, that wouldn’t have alarmed her.
What Tess barely noted was the sallow-faced man who had accidentally bumped into her as she was making her way through the crowded terminal to the ladies’ room in the minutes following that tough call. He’d knocked the carry-on she’d been trailing behind her right out of her hand, but had courteously retrieved it for her and made sure she was all right before moving on.
She did notice he reeked of stale cigarettes, but then from what she remembered, most of the men here smoked. What she didn’t notice was the tiny black strip, roughly the size of a coin, that he had managed to stick by the small wheel well on the bottom of the bag.
With the bag now trailing safely behind her, Tess walked with Reilly as they made their way through the stifling and chaotic terminal to the car rental desk. Ertugrul had brought some hastily procured supplies, which included a crate of bottled water, two sleeping bags, and a nylon tent. A short while later, they were settled into a slightly tattered four-wheel-drive Mitsubishi Pajero on the centuries-old trail of a handful of shipwrecked warrior knights.
REILLY DROVE WHILE TESS took on the role of navigator. She was using an assortment of maps and notes to try and retrace the route Al-Idrissi mentioned in his journals while reconciling it with elements gleaned from Aimard’s letter.
As the shore dropped away behind them, the densely packed houses and low-rise apartment buildings quickly gave way to a calmer landscape. Huge swathes of the Lycian coastline had been protected as conservation areas before the airport at Dalaman was built, sparing the area from the blight of mass-market resorts. Tess and Reilly quickly found themselves driving through a more pastoral setting of older properties, fronted by rough stone walls and rusty wrought-iron fences and shaded by pine trees. On both sides of the road, the land appeared rich and fertile, dense with shrubs, and dotted with clusters of trees. On the higher ground to their right, the cover thickened.
It took less than an hour to reach Köycegiz, a small town resting on the edge of a large, mystical lake that once formed a natural harbor. Carian cliff tombs, intricately carved into the rocky hills bordering the lake and strikingly well preserved, loomed down on them somberly, a reminder of one of the many civilizations that had settled in this region.
About two miles beyond the town, Tess directed Reilly to turn off the main road. The asphalt was cracked and potholed; the journey from here on would be rougher, but for the time being the Pajero’s rugged suspension was taking it in stride.
They drove past olive and lemon groves, past cornfields and tomato plantations on roads lined by frankincense trees, the vibrant colors and
smells helping to awaken their dulled, jet-lagged senses. Then they were climbing again, into densely forested hills dotted with the occasional sleepy village.
All around them were the poor, primitive, and picturesque reminders of a way of life that was over a thousand years old, a living history long since gone from the more prosperous West. Serendipitous sights emerged to greet them as they pressed on: a girl spinning wool with a weight as she herded her sheep; a laden wood-gatherer dwarfed by his tall and unwieldy load; a brace of oxen pulling a tree-trunk plow under the setting sun.
From time to time, Tess would get very excited as she found extracts from Al-Idrissi’s journal that matched their progress. Mostly, though, her thoughts were not so much about that traveler’s journey, but were instead drawn to the surviving knights who had trudged desperately across these lands all those years ago.
By now, the light had faded and the SUV’s headlights were helping guide the way. The road had degenerated into a narrow, rock-strewn path.
“I think we should call it a day,” Reilly said.
Tess consulted her map. “It can’t be far. I’d say we’re about twenty, thirty miles away.”
“Maybe, but it’s getting dark, and I wouldn’t want to hit a rock or something and risk breaking an axle out here.”
She was eager to reach their destination but, as he maneuvered the Pajero onto a fairly level patch of ground, she had to concede that he was right. Even a flat tire would be bad news.
They both climbed out and looked around. The last, faint traces of the setting sun glowed from behind wisps of pink-gray clouds in an otherwise clear sky. Overhead, the waxing crescent of the moon seemed unnaturally close. The mountains around them were still and deserted, enshrouded by a disconcerting quiet he wasn’t used to. “Any towns nearby we can stay in?”
She checked her map again. “Nothing close. Last one was about seven miles back.”
The Last Templar Page 24
