The Last Templar

by Raymond Khoury

  “Yes, but where?” she said irritably. “We followed what he wrote, right down to the double ridge. It should be right here.” She studied the map intently. “The map doesn’t even show a lake.”

  She looked at him and heaved a sigh of sheer frustration.

  He put his arm around her. “Look, we’re close, I’m sure of it. We’ve been on the road for a couple of hours. Let’s find a town, somewhere to eat. We can go over your notes there.”

  THE VILLAGE WAS SMALL, the only lokanta tiny, a strictly local affair. An old man with a seamed face and dark, pebble eyes took their order, which basically involved their acquiescing to whatever he said was available. Two bottles of Efes beer and a plate of stuffed vine leaves quickly followed.

  Tess was immersed in her notes. She had calmed down but was still disconsolate, visibly and justifiably mired in a deep funk.

  “Eat,” he told her. “You’ll sulk better.”

  “I’m not sulking,” she murmured as she glanced up at him, annoyed.

  “Let me have a look.”

  “What?” The glare intensified.

  “Your notes. Let’s go over them together, step by step.”

  She pushed them away and leaned back, tightening her fists, squeezing the air out of them. “We’re so close, I can feel it.”

  The old man came back with two plates of cabbage dolmas and skewers of grilled lamb. Reilly watched him as he placed them on the table, then nodded his gratitude before looking at Tess. “Maybe we should ask him?”

  “Beer el Sifsaaf hasn’t been on any map for hundreds of years,” she grumbled. “I mean come on, Sean. He’s old, but he’s not that old.”

  Reilly wasn’t listening to her. His eyes were on the old man, who broke into a gap-toothed smile and nodded sheepishly at him. Reilly felt a sudden tingle of anticipation. “Beer el Sifsaaf?” he asked the old man hesitantly, then, slowly: “Do you know where it is?”

  The old man smiled as he nodded his head vigorously. “Beer el Sifsaaf,” he said. “Evet.”

  Tess’s eyes lit up and she rose from her seat. “What?” The man nodded again. “Where?” she snapped excitedly. “Where is it?” The man was still clearly agreeing, but now looked slightly confused. She frowned, then tried again. “Nerede?”

  The old man pointed up the hill they had just descended. Tess lifted her gaze and followed his outstretched finger. He was waving his pointing hand to the north, and Tess was already heading for the car.

  MINUTES LATER, the Pajero was roaring back up the hill. The old man, riding shotgun, was hanging on to the handle above his window in a state of perspiring terror as he watched the mountain tear past him, the wind whipping in through the open windows, his cries of “Yavas, yavas” merely spicing Reilly’s grinning abandon as they plowed ahead. Tess was leaning forward from the backseat, her eyes scanning the rushing landscape for clues.

  Just before the ridge where they had seen the lake, the old man pointed, “Göl, göl,” and Reilly swung the wheel to take them along an even narrower track they hadn’t spotted before. With tree branches whipping its sides, the SUV charged ahead. Another kilometer or so and the trees cleared, and they mounted another ridge.

  The old man was grinning excitedly, pointing at the valley. “Orada, Orada! Sbte!”

  As the valley opened up before them, Tess couldn’t believe her eyes.

  It was the lake.

  Again.

  She shot him a glance of utter dejection as Reilly ground the SUV to a halt, and they all disembarked. They walked over to the edge of the small clearing, the old man still nodding with self-satisfaction. Tess watched him and shook her head, turning to Reilly. “Of course, we had to find the senile one.” She looked at the old man again, imploring him. “Beer el Sifsaaf? Nerede?”

  The old man’s brow furrowed in apparent confusion. “Orada,” he insisted, pointing down at the lake.

  Reilly took a few more steps forward and took another look. From this vantage point, he could see the whole lake, including its western edge, which had been obscured by the forest at their earlier viewing point.

  He turned to Tess, a small smirk breaking across his face. “Oh ye of little faith,” he said.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” she blurted. His fingers were calmly inviting her to join him. She looked at the old man, who nodded in eager agreement; then, confused, she clambered over to Reilly and saw it too.

  From this new angle, Tess could see, a mile or more away and cutting across the edge of the lake, a concrete causeway that stretched from one hilltop to another. The top of a dam.

  “Oh my God,” she said.

  Reilly had taken a notebook from his pocket and was now sketching a cross-section view of the hills with a line stretching between them for the surface of the lake. He then drew the rough outline of some houses at the bottom of the lake and showed the sketch to the old man, who took the ballpoint pen and made a large X at the bottom of the lake and said, “Köy suyun altinda. Beer el Sifsaaf.”

  Tess looked at Reilly and he showed her his rickety drawing. “It’s down there,” he confirmed. “Underwater. This dam flooded the whole valley, the remains of the village with it. It’s at the bottom of the lake.”

  Chapter 57

  With the old man sitting more comfortably now, Reilly guided the Pajero carefully down the bumpy and rock-strewn track until they reached the edge of the lake.

  It was massive, the surface of its water as smooth and silky as glass. On the opposite shore was a line of posts, incoming power and telephone lines, he guessed, and probably a road in. From the dam itself, he could see a line of pylons striding northward over a range of hills and heading toward civilization. The dam and its artificial lake apart, civilization had not impacted this place. The surrounding woodlands and, higher up, bleaker mountaintops, none of it especially hospitable terrain, looked to him much as it must have looked to the Knights Templar who had passed this way seven hundred years ago.

  They reached the dam and, relieved to be off the rough track and as eager now as Tess was to reach their destination, Reilly sped along the concrete roadway that ran across the top of the massive concrete structure. To their left, he saw a drop of at least two hundred feet. At the far end was a maintenance station, which was where the old man was guiding them.

  As they drove across the causeway, Reilly’s eyes scanned the edges of the lake and the ground above them. There was no sign of life, though he couldn’t be sure; the tree cover was dense, the shadows providing ample cover for anyone who didn’t want to be seen. He had been careful to keep an eye out for any signs of Vance since they had entered the final stages of their journey and hadn’t seen anything that suggested any outside visitors in the area. The situation would probably have been different in the height of the summer tourist season, but right now, they seemed to be alone.

  Not that any of that made Reilly feel any more comfortable. Vance had shown himself to be adept at staying one step ahead of them, and he’d shown a headstrong determination and resilience in pursuing his objective.

  He was out there. Somewhere.

  Reilly had used the time during the drive down to ask the old man if anyone else had asked about the village recently. Some awkward language acrobatics later, he understood from the old man that no one had asked about it, as far as he knew. Maybe we are running ahead of him, Reilly thought as he scanned the immediate grounds of the dam, looking for anything out of place before bringing the SUV to a halt alongside what appeared to be a small maintenance office.

  A rusty white Fiat was parked outside. From here, he could see what appeared to be a road coming in from the other side. It appeared to be smooth and fairly new. “If that’s what I think it is,” he told Tess, “we could’ve had a comfortable ride here in half the time.”

  “Well, when we’re done here,” she grinned, “maybe we can have a smooth, fast ride out.” Her mood had changed immeasurably as she beamed at him before jumping out of the car to follow the old man, who
was now greeting a younger man who had emerged from the small shed.

  Reilly waited for a moment, watching her long-legged stride toward the two local men. She was incorrigible. What, he wondered, am I getting myself into with this woman? He had suggested they call in their discovery and await the arrival of a team of specialists to handle the matter, assuring Tess he would do his utmost to make sure the find was hers. She hadn’t batted an eyelid before summarily dismissing his suggestion and imploring him to hold off. Despite his better judgment, he had relented, bowing to the sheer force of her enthusiasm. She was going all the way on this, and even went so far as to insist he stay off the satphone for now, at least until she’d had a chance to take a look herself.

  Tess was already in earnest conversation with the young man, an engineer whose name was Okan. He was small and slender with dense black hair and an overgrown mustache, and, from the grin plastered on his face, Reilly could see that Tess’s charms were already overwhelming any reluctance the man might have in helping them. Okan spoke some English, which also helped. Reilly watched with interest as Tess explained that they were archaeologists with an interest in old churches, specifically the one beneath the surface of the lake. The engineer had explained that the valley had been flooded in 1973—two years after Tess’s map was drafted. The dam now provided most of the electric power for the thriving coastal region to the south.

  Her next question to the engineer stopped Reilly in his tracks. “You must have diving equipment here, right? For checking the dam.”

  Okan appeared to be as surprised as Reilly. “Yes, we do,” he stammered. “Why?”

  She brushed any doubt aside. “We’d like to borrow some.”

  “You wish to dive and look for this church?” he asked, his face shrouded in confusion.

  “Yes,” Tess replied sprightly, raising her hands expansively. “It’s a perfect day for it, isn’t it?”

  The engineer glanced at Reilly and at the old man, unsure of what to make of this. “We have some equipment, yes, but it is used only once or twice a year,” he said hesitantly. “It will need checking, I don’t know if—”

  She jumped right in. “My colleague and I can check them out. We do it all the time. Shall we follow you?” Reilly looked at her uncertainly. She shot him back a look of utter confidence. He was still pondering her wild suggestion that they were both trained divers. He didn’t know about her, but he had nothing more than the most rudimentary basic training underwater. Still, he wasn’t about to put a damper on her parade—not here, not in front of the two strangers. He was curious to see where her determination would lead.

  Okan was decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. “I’m not sure, I—I’m not authorized to do anything like that.”

  “Oh, I’m sure it’ll be fine.” She flashed that smile again. “We’ll sign a waiver, of course,” she assured him. “It’ll be entirely our responsibility. And, obviously, we’re very happy to pay a fee to…the company—for the use of the equipment.” The pause before she said “the company” was perfectly timed. Any shorter and Okan could’ve missed it; any longer and he might’ve been insulted at such a clumsily implied bribe.

  The little man studied her for a moment, then his mustache twitched and he shrugged. “Okay. Come with me. Let me show you what we have.”

  A NARROW STAIRCASE LED down from the office into a dusty storeroom that was haphazardly piled with equipment and hazily lit by a fluorescent lamp that flickered and buzzed. In the blue glow, Reilly could discern an arc-welding set, butane gas bottles, an oxy-acetylene burning rig, and, in the far corner, a heap of diving gear.

  He left it to Tess to sort through them, and, as she hefted each piece of equipment, it seemed like she knew what she was doing.

  “It’s not state of the art, but it’ll do,” she said, shrugging.

  She hadn’t been able to find a dive computer, though, which they’d have to manage without. She saw a dive chart on the wall and asked Okan how deep the lake was. He told her he thought it was a hundred, maybe a hundred and twenty feet deep. She consulted the chart and frowned. “We won’t have that much time at the bottom. We’ll need to start our dive right on top of the village.” Turning to Okan again, she asked him if he had anything that showed its location.

  The little man’s brow furrowed, pondering the matter. “You must talk to Rüstem,” he finally said. “He lived in the village before it was flooded, and he never left the area. If anyone knows where the church is, he will.”

  Reilly waited for Okan to step outside the room for a moment before turning to Tess. “This is crazy. We should bring in some pros.”

  “You’re forgetting something. I am a professional,” she insisted. “I’ve done this a hundred times.”

  “Yes, but not like this. Besides, I’m not too happy about having both of us down there without anyone keeping an eye topside.”

  “We’ve got to give it a shot. Come on, you said it yourself. There’s no one around. We’ve beaten Vance to it.” She leaned into him, her face lit with anticipation. “We can’t stop now. Not when we’re this close.”

  “One dive,” he relented. “Then we make the call.”

  She was already heading for the door. “Let’s make it count.”

  THEY CARRIED THE GEAR up the staircase and piled everything into the back of the Pajero. Okan invited Tess into his rusty white Fiat, asking Reilly to follow him with the old man. Reilly looked at Tess, who winked conspiratorially before folding her legs into the small car to the obvious delight of the engineer.

  The Pajero followed Okan’s car along an asphalt service road for about half a mile until the engineer pulled off and stopped beside a chain-link compound inside which were piled concrete blocks, drainage pipes, and dozens of empty oil drums; all the usual clutter left over at the end of any building project. Inside the compound, an old man in traditional headdress and robe was pottering around. Reilly guessed that a little bit of private enterprise was in operation here and wasn’t at all surprised when Okan introduced the recycler, Rüstem, as his uncle.

  Rüstem smiled toothlessly at them, then listened intently as his nephew rattled off some questions before answering with lots of arm waving and enthusiastic nodding.

  Okan turned to Tess and Reilly. “My uncle remembers the remains of the village very well. For many years, he brought his goats to this place. He says only parts of the church still stand.” He shrugged, interpolating a comment of his own. “At least, that’s how it was before the valley was flooded. There was a well close to the church, and he remembers a…” Okan frowned, searching for the words. “The dead root of a very big tree.”

  “A tree stump,” Tess said.

  “Stump, yes, that’s it. The stump of a willow tree.”

  Tess turned to Reilly, her eyes blazing with anticipation.

  “So, what do you think? Is it worth a look?” he deadpanned.

  “If you insist,” she grinned.

  They thanked Okan and the old man who drove off, the engineer flashing a reluctant last glance at Tess and, before long, she and Reilly had pulled on their wet suits and lugged their gear to the water’s edge, where Rüstem kept a couple of small rowboats. They clambered aboard, then Rüstem pushed them off and scrambled in himself. Picking up the oars, he began to row with the easy movements of someone for whom this had been a lifelong practice.

  Tess used the ride out to remind Reilly of the routine procedures he vaguely recalled from his only previous diving experience, during a short holiday in the Cayman Islands four years earlier. Rüstem stopped rowing when they were roughly halfway between the east and west shorelines and about three-quarters of a mile from the dam. Muttering to himself as he squinted first at one nearby hilltop, then at another and another, he used one of the oars as a paddle to make a succession of careful positioning movements. As he did this, Reilly reached over the side and swirled both of the masks in the water.

  “What do you think is down there?” he asked.

  “I
don’t know.” She looked solemnly at the water. “Right now, I’m just hoping it’s there.”

  They stared at one another in silence, then realized that the old man had stopped and was displaying his gums in a triumphant beam. He pointed downward. “Kilise suyun altinda,” he told them. The words sounded similar to those used by the frail man from the restaurant.

  “Sükran,” Tess said.

  “What did he say?”

  “Damned if I know,” she replied as she climbed onto the edge of the boat before adding, “but I’m pretty sure kilise means church, so I guess this must be it.” She cocked her head at him. “You coming or what?”

  And before he could answer, she had pulled down her mask and let herself roll backward into the reservoir with barely a splash. After a glance at Rüstem, who raised a thumb in a decidedly modern gesture, Reilly followed her, far less gracefully, into the dark water.

  Chapter 58

  As they descended into the cold gloom of the lake, Tess was overcome with a familiar rush, one that she craved badly. There was something almost mystical in knowing that she may be about to see things that had not been seen by human eyes for many years. It was already a heady feeling on land, closing in on the remnants of long-lost civilizations that lay hidden beneath centuries of sand and earth. When the site was buried under a mountain of water, the exhilaration was even greater.

  This dive, though, trumped them all as far as she was concerned. If most excavations or dives at least began with the promise of some great discovery, they more often than not proved disappointing. This one was different. The trail of clues that had brought them to this lake, the nature of the coded message, and the lengths to which people were prepared to go to get to it all pointed to her being on the verge of an archaeological discovery of far greater significance than anything she had ever realistically expected to make.

  They were now twenty feet down and descending slowly. Between the cold and the anticipation, it was as if every last pore on her body had suddenly come alive. She looked up at where the sunlight dappled the surface. The bottom of the old man’s boat was suspended serenely above her, the water gently lapping against it. The water clarity was good considering they were basically in a blocked-up river, but the darkness was quickly closing in around them.