Darav used the same towel to clean his fingerprints off the metal box, which he left open on the desk.
In Jafari’s bedroom, he used the towel as a barrier against leaving prints and pulled out dresser drawers, tossing their contents on the floor and bed. He scattered photos and mementos from the boxes on the closet shelf so it looked as though Jafari had interrupted burglars who then killed him.
Finished, Darav cracked open the front door and peeked out, checking that no one would see him leave. He stepped into the hall but stopped and went back inside. He rifled through the desk one more time and found Jafari’s address book. He’d have the desk clerk at his hotel page through it and find the address of Jafari’s parents. Darav knew their names from Jafari’s Facebook page where he’d posted a picture of the family in his profile. He’d pay the clerk to write a brief note of condolence from Refik Mahir and mail it from Turkey. Mahir was the MIAR project leader on the Byzantine shipwreck site. He’d include a line stating MIAR was informed of the tragedy by fellow archaeologists in Egypt. The false letter circumvented the possibility of Jafari’s family sending a death notification to MIAR.
The eastbound tram Darav needed to return to his hotel had three cars, one more than the earlier tram he rode. The middle and rear cars were packed. Like a fool, he didn’t question the disparity in passenger numbers and boarded the emptier first car. Reserved for women only, he was laughed out of the car by the conductor and women. He squeezed onto the rear car, clutching the plastic bag to his chest, distrusting the riders pressed against him.
He was booked on the last flight out from Cairo to Baghdad. The false Syrian passport he traveled on would clear Iraqi Immigration. From Baghdad, he’d suffer the uncomfortable three-hundred-fifty kilometer bus trip to Irbil. The route from Diyarbakir Airport was less tortuous but far more dangerous. Diyarbakir was close to his home village in the Mardin Province. In Mardin, he could move from village to village, staying in safe houses until he reached the Qandil Mountains and the Iraqi border. More than dangerous, such a plan was impossible. A flight to Diyarbakir required him to clear Turkish Immigration in either Istanbul or Ankara first. The passport wouldn’t fool the authorities. They’d run him through facial recognition and he was wanted in Turkey. They’d arrest him on sight and he’d be tried for treason. Cairo to Baghdad was his best option.
Once he arrived in Irbil, he’d contact a covert organization of sympathizers to the cause. Talented experts there would remove the biometric chip in Jafari’s passport. They’d adapt a new chip with Darav’s iris scan and fingerprint in its place.
Chapter Nine
Salamis Bay, Cyprus-June
Refik and Talat greeted Charlotte and Atakan at Larnaca Airport. They welcomed Charlotte with warm hugs and a kiss on each cheek.
“It’s great seeing you,” she said. She’d worked with both on a Bronze Age shipwreck the previous dive season and was happy to work with them again. “I appreciate you requested me. It means a lot.”
Refik and the MIAR staff liked to give the opportunity of working their wreck projects to new people. They chose students from different countries who needed field experience for their doctorates in nautical archaeology. She’d submitted her request for consideration. Atakan’s friendship with Refik went back many years. A hint from her suggesting he use his influence with Refik was instantly shot down. His position with the Ministry forbade him from interceding on her behalf. Any attempt carried serious repercussions.
All her hopes lay with Refik, who had the final say in choice. If he selected her, she’d be granted a work visa. A work visa allowed her another avenue to stay in Turkey. Although the wreck was off the coast of Cyprus, MIAR was headquartered in Bodrum, Turkey. Visa requests for MIAR’s participants were issued by the Ankara government and honored in Northern Cyprus. If they hadn’t selected her, she’d be forced to reapply for an extension of her residence permit. Immigration rules and bureaucratic red tape made those hard to obtain.
For both professional and personal reasons she wished to stay in Turkey, personal being the most important. The relationship between her and Atakan thrived. She adored the obstinate, if diplomacy challenged, devil. When MIAR didn’t immediately approve her application for assignment to the Cyprus wreck, she expressed her heightened visa concerns. Atakan reassured her she worried for nothing. He should’ve stopped there.
“If necessary, we can marry,” Atakan had offered.
From the pained look on his face the instant the words left his lips, he knew he’d screwed up. What woman could or would let it slide?
With a grossly insincere and dramatic palm to her chest, she said, “Be still my heart. Who can resist such a noble sacrifice oh Sultan of Romance?”
“I didn’t mean it to come out as bad as it sounded.”
“That is the worst marriage proposal ever,” Charlotte said with a laugh. “I’m not offended. I know how you meant it. The point is neither of us wants marriage. A piece of paper doesn’t reflect how we feel about each other.”
“I’ll do whatever I must to keep you with me.” No sooner had those words left his lips then a deep frown formed. “That didn’t come out well either, did it?”
She stuck her hand up. “Don’t say anymore. You’re digging a hole you can’t climb out of.”
Neither broached the subject of marriage again until his mother mentioned it at the hospital in Paris.
Her dream of eventually finding proof of her controversial Trojan War theory was another motivating reason to remain in the country. She conjectured Homer based the characters from the Iliad on actual people. A theory Atakan doggedly referred to as more crazy than controversial. In spite of his skepticism, she believed she saw the possible proof on the Bronze Age shipwreck from the year before. She alone had seen what she thought was a representation of Hektor’s chariot. The golden chariot was buried in the last unexplored cargo hold. The sculpture was lost when the stern hold broke from the hull. The lost section slipped into deep waters MIAR wasn’t equipped to excavate. If potential evidence sank with the hold, she believed other undiscovered evidence still existed in the waters of the Aegean or Eastern Mediterranean.
Refik and Talat welcomed Atakan with kisses to his cheeks and hard slaps on the back, as old friends do. Both were careful not to strike the injured shoulder.
“With your arm in a sling, I’m surprised the Ministry allows you to do field work. I thought they’d confine you to a desk assignment,” Refik said as they walked to the car.
“We ran the hazards and dangers of various scenarios and locations and felt confident I could continue with this project. MIAR agreed, then waffled. They settled on a conditional agreement.”
“Iskender?” Refik asked.
“Yes, if a situation arises and I need assistance, they’ll send a new representative to the Black Sea site he’s working. Once the new man is oriented, Iskender will join me here.”
“That clarifies things. When I saw both your names on the Ministry letter, I was confused,” Talat said.
Atakan insisted he was capable of handling his bags. Talat ignored the protest and loaded Atakan and Charlotte’s cases into the trunk.
Refik drove the coastal route from the airport toward Salamis Bay. The Mediterranean was a sheet of turquoise glass with no wind to disturb the calm surface. Cyprus, like many islands in the region, suffered the occasional summer meltemi winds, but a milder westerly wind blew almost constantly. Today, an unusual balmy breeze came out of the east. The day was comfortably warm. Charlotte rolled down the window, inhaling the salt air. The weather wouldn’t stay pleasant long. By the middle of summer, when the excavation work was heaviest, the temperature would reach over a hundred degrees Fahrenheit.
“You love the sea, don’t you?” Atakan asked.
“Yes,” Charlotte said and took another deep breath. “I love her moods. She’s unique, unpredictable, and secretive, when she chooses. Sometimes, she’s inviting, often times, she’s terrifying, but she’s always
majestic. I smell her freshness, her cool, salt scent and know she’s smelled the same for millennia.”
“A shared appreciation with the ancients is a joy for us archaeologists,” Atakan said.
“You think the sea is a woman?” Talat smiled at Charlotte over his shoulder.
“You think it’s a man?”
He chuckled. “No. As you said, it’s too unpredictable and moody to be a man.”
“You make those qualities sound bad,” she joked back. “As a woman, I say, not so.”
“You’ve never been on the receiving end.”
Atakan and Refik grunted in agreement.
They entered the kokkinokhoria, the red soil villages, region. Vast potato fields covered the landscape. Cyprus produced some of the finest in Europe. She loved potatoes...mashed...baked...scalloped, every kind. Her mother made the best mashed potatoes on the planet. She missed them.
As they passed the town of Ayia Napa, Refik turned onto the inland bypass road. In the distance, the many resorts of Protaras blocked their view of the sea.
After driving through the larger town of Famagusta, a roadside billboard advertising Ada’s Resort Village indicated the next exit. Refik turned off at the exit and drove another kilometer. On the right, a stone arch appeared with an Ada’s sign carved and painted blue in the front. He turned into the carpark adjacent to a row of white-washed bungalows.
Ada’s was a local self-catering resort named after the owner’s wife, Refik told them. They unloaded their bags and followed Refik to a bungalow at the far end of the facility.
Individual tables with a mix of straw and canvas umbrellas bordered the path in front of the rooms. At the area closest to the carpark, was an open-sided outdoor restaurant with a wooden roof and small bar.
Refik had reserved a block of rooms for the team. Each bungalow contained tiny kitchenettes with two-burner stoves and mini-refrigerators, and a balcony that overlooked the water. He and Talat had private rooms. The team members already there shared four-person bungalows. Refik booked another private one for Charlotte and Atakan. Once the rest arrived, they’d relocate to the excavation site and construct their camp with men’s and women’s dormitories. Compared to camp life, the self-catering resort was a five-star facility.
#
The next day, the final team members arrived. Refik ordered everyone to meet in the late afternoon for introductions and partner assignments.
Ada’s owner set aside two long, family-style tables for the group. Refik asked Charlotte to sit at one table and asked Rachel Rathburn to sit at the other. Charlotte knew the buxom archaeologist and liked her. They’d worked together the summer before. Rachel was from Miami and one of a handful of Americans on the current team. She was also one of Talat’s former lovers. The surreptitious pat on the ass he gave her when Refik introduced Rachel didn’t go unseen by Charlotte.
“I want an update,” Charlotte whispered as Rachel walked past. “We’ll talk later, in private.”
Rachel smiled and said, “Absolutely.”
Refik introduced Atakan last and explained his position with the Ministry and purpose at the site.
Outside of Refik, Talat and Rachel, Charlotte didn’t know anyone else. Other than the small American contingent, everyone else came from all over Europe. Rachel and Charlotte sat where Refik indicated. Atakan asked one of the Brits to slide over and squeezed in beside Charlotte.
Rachel leaned back in her chair so she was shoulder to shoulder with Charlotte. “I’ll be wanting an update myself,” she said, wiggling her brows, glancing from Charlotte to Atakan and back.
Waiters brought the group snacks in the traditional Cypriot meze style of little plates filled with a variety of local dishes. A steady stream from the kitchen brought dolmas, a stuffed vegetable dish called yemista, fried zucchini and eggplant, hummus, local fruit and baskets of freshly baked bread.
The Americans who’d never tried it, ordered kafenio. She’d tasted it on the plane. The coffee was too sweet for Charlotte’s taste. She loved chocolate candy, custard-filled French pastries, and was mad for Baklava with its honey and nut layers. Not sugary drinks. She hated them. She liked her wine dry, her coffee black, and her soda sugar-free. For lunch, she stuck with her usual, red wine. Atakan and the men drank beer.
The jovial group was excited to get started. Once the people at Charlotte’s table learned of her participation in the previous seasons shipwreck excavation, she was questioned at length about the experience and what they should expect. The divers at Rachel’s table did the same. Refik had anticipated this and asked Charlotte and Rachel to sit apart.
One diver, a quiet young man with a thick beard and mustache Refik introduced as Nassor Jafari, was Egyptian. He sat at the end of the table a little apart from the rest and made no effort to chat.
Refik encouraged him to ask questions and join in on the conversation. Jafari did engage in a brief talk with Talat but soon grew silent again. Charlotte noticed what he lacked in talkativeness he made up for in appetite. His was voracious.
“Are you watching Nassor?” Charlotte asked Atakan in a low voice.
He nodded.
“He attacked the basket of halloumi bread like a starving man.”
“I find his posture interesting,” Atakan said without looking at Nassor.
Charlotte watched him for a moment, unsure what Atakan referred to. Nassor sat hunched with his head down and his shoulders rolled inward. He wrapped one arm around the plate of meat and bread in front of him. He ate with his other hand, gripping the fork like a shovel. Between mouthfuls of food, the fork never left his fist and stayed close to the plate. Coarse table manners for a man who worked closely with various scientists and experts in field operations.
“It’s almost as though he doesn’t trust us, like we’re going to steal his food or something,” she said.
Atakan didn’t respond. He turned to Refik sitting next to him to discuss the extra security needed for the camp. He’d discussed his concerns the night before with Charlotte. Unlike the last wreck site, which was positioned by a secluded cove, this wreck’s proximity to a popular tourist area presented additional security problems.
She’d only seen basic survey photos and a general map of the location. At his office, Atakan had accessed a detailed map and satellite images of the surrounding environment. Before they left Istanbul, he’d checked with the local Cyprus police. There’d been a rash of auto burglaries in the area of Salamis.
Atakan studied photos again the night before in their bungalow and ran some options by Charlotte. Protection of the artifacts and the integrity of the site was his primary concern. Because of the burglary incidents, safety of the equipment presented another new issue. The expensive electronic equipment, the tools, and computers, were easy to sell and fast money makers for thieves.
“We’ll have to build an exterior fence,” Atakan concluded.
“A fence slows a determined thief down, but you’ll still need a guard at the entrance, in my opinion,” Charlotte said.
“It has to be me during the day since I can’t dive.”
“There should be two. You need backup until Iskender arrives. You can’t completely eliminate the possibility Tischenko won’t try another attempt on your life here.”
“Charlotte, I cannot live my life in fear. This is my job. This is what I do. Would you have me hide in the shadows?”
“No. I’m not asking you not to perform your job or suggesting you behave in any way that offends you. That said, you can’t disregard what’s happened. Until he’s caught extra caution is a matter of common sense.”
“I’m allowed to be armed. No one else is. What good is a second man if he’s weaponless?”
“I don’t know. But it can’t hurt,” Charlotte argued back, frustrated with his obstinance.
She listened as Atakan talked logistics. They’d construct Refik’s office where it had an unobstructed view of the camp’s entrance. Atakan would use the office during the day. Refik sl
ept there at night. A light sleeper, he was confident he’d hear anyone attempting to enter.
Charlotte kicked Atakan under the table when he made no mention of a backup during the day. “Ask for a second man,” she whispered.
Atakan ignored her.
When he finished talking with Refik, he turned to Charlotte. “Ow.”
“Why didn’t you ask about another body watching the gate with you?”
“I’m not interfering with Refik’s schedule. Iskender emailed me this morning. He’ll be here in three days. Problem solved. No more kicks needed.”
“Is he allowed a gun too?”
“You’re obsessed with guns, but then you are from Chicago, where all the mafia gangsters run around shooting each other. I’ve seen the movies,” he said with a lopsided grin.
She considered kicking him again.
“Chicago doesn’t hold the patent on gangsters. Putz. Answer my question.”
“Yes, he is coming armed.”
“Good. I have to make a quick call. I’ll be right back.”
She excused herself and returned to their room. She had confidence in the Ministry and their abilities to track down Tischenko, eventually. She decided after their talk in the kitchen she’d do whatever possible on her end. Without telling Atakan, she’d contact Nick and asked for his help. He had to know someone who could legally or illegally discover something useful.
Chapter Ten
“Hello,” Nick answered sleepy voiced.
“Nick, it’s me. Did I wake you?” Charlotte asked, checking her watch. It was one o’clock where she was but with the eight hour time difference, five in the morning in Chicago.
“Yeah, but don’t sweat it. I was getting up in an hour anyway. Is everything okay, Case?”
“So far. We’re in Cyprus now.” She filled Nick in on Atakan’s physical improvement and that a fellow Ministry agent was en route to assist him on the site.
“Two’s better than one under the circumstances, especially when one is winged,” Nick said.
Byzantine Gold Page 5
