“You said no, of course.”
She nodded. “I think she hopes to be with you again.”
“Trust me, Rana, she doesn’t,” he said, putting his hands behind his head.
“I asked where the two men she came with last time were. She said both were at the camp. The man who you instructed Evgeniy and I to look for, I believe he is her current lover.”
“He is.”
“I asked after the second man. She said he’s a friend of the man you call Vadim.”
Maksym leaned back in the chair and stretched his legs out, analyzing the situation from Atakan’s mindset. Obviously, Atakan suspected he’d followed him to Cyprus but couldn’t be certain. He’d be a fool not to suspect and Atakan was no fool. Dashiell identified the second man as a friend. A friend from the recovery project or a friend from the Ministry, Maksym wished he knew. Best to assume the Ministry sent a second agent in case of another attempt on Atakan’s life. If the man was an agent, then in all likelihood he’d be armed too. That changed the dynamic. They’d probably scouted the area for weak points in and around the camp where Atakan was vulnerable. He had to assume they found the vulnerable spots and made adjustments. If the man was indeed an agent.
“She didn’t say whether the second man was a diver or not?”
“No. I hesitated to ask for details. I was afraid she’d become suspicious,” Rana said.
“She would. Vadim’s woman is very clever.”
“I am clever too.”
Maksym grinned at the tipped chin defying him to say otherwise. Cleverness wasn’t one of her strong suits. It didn’t matter to him and he saw no reason to hurt her feelings. “You’re lovely and willing, which is far better.” The compliment earned him a broad smile.
His thoughts returned to the possible new complication. He hadn’t counted on facing a second gun when he confronted Atakan. Atakan definitely carried a weapon. He’d had a gun when he came running out of the apartment building the night the flowers were delivered.
Rana came over and sat on his lap, looping her arms around his neck. “What are you thinking so hard on, Maksy?”
Maksy—she’d taken to calling him that since they arrived in Cyprus. He wasn’t a fan of cute nicknames, but it pleased her so he put up with the silliness.
“I am thinking of a new strategy.”
Rana wasn’t listening but teasingly rubbing her tits across his chest.
He moved her off his lap, unzipped his jeans, and opened his legs. Putting his hands behind his head again, he said, “Time for you to be a good friend.”
It took her a few seconds to catch his meaning. Then, she dropped to her knees and freed his erection to take him deep in her mouth.
Chapter Forty-One
The odor of onion and cinnamon from the lunchtime moussaka hung in the air of the dining room. All the team members had left except for Saska, Nassor, Atakan, Iskender, and Charlotte. The cook had finished cleaning up and gone into Famagusta for fresh vegetables and fruit from the local market. Atakan, Iskender, and Charlotte lingered, making idle conversation while they waited for Saska and Nassor to leave. Atakan eyed Nassor hard whenever his attention settled on Saska. Atakan was good at observing without appearing to and Charlotte envied the ability. Saska nodded to the three of them as she and Nassor finally left.
“I need you to draw something for me,” Atakan said when they were alone.
“Sure, what is it?”
He slid a series of photos he’d printed out from the jpegs sent to him from the project manager on Nassor’s previous assignment. The pictures were taken by different team members and at various times during the recovery work.
She took the photos he handed her, curiosity aroused. Both Atakan and Iskender wore dead serious expressions—serious and concerned.
“Who is this?” she asked, going through the pictures one-by-one. From the looks on their faces, she wondered if this was someone they’d suspected of artifact smuggling and had seen in the area.
“It’s Nassor Jafari,” Atakan said.
Charlotte went through the photos again. “He’s lost weight since then. Definitely thinner.” She looked up at Atakan then to Iskender and back to Atakan. “If there’s something you want me to see, I’m afraid I don’t know what it is.”
“Concentrate on his face.” Iskender tapped the head shots.
She studied the pictures he’d pointed to. “I’m sorry, but with his thick beard, his face is fuller now, other than that, I still don’t see much difference.”
“The ears and nose are not the same,” Atakan said.
She stared at the ears and nose. “The ears look more sticky-out, but that might be because his head is shaved here. The lack of hair makes them more noticeable. The nose looks the same, to me.”
“Ears are a very distinctive feature, unique. His hair is longer now, but it still exposes his ears. Like you said, they don’t stick out as much.” Iskender nodded in agreement with Atakan.
“Also, focus again on the nose. In the photo in your hand, Nassor’s nostrils are flared, not a lot, but more than your partner Nassor’s.”
Once the differences were pointed out, she could see the variation.
She gave the photos back to Atakan. “All right, I see what you mean. But why are you so fixed on these differences? At the end of the day, they’re pretty slight.”
“Enough to make me wonder about who’s working with you—whose working this project. I need you to take the face shots and draw a picture with a full beard alteration. Use Refik’s office.” Atakan put all but the headshots in the envelope.
“I can’t draw the kind of portrait sketch you want. I can sketch the relics fine but not accurate face recreations. Rachel is better.”
“It should be you. We can’t have our suspicions leak. The drawing has to be done by someone we trust,” Iskender said, although she didn’t need the explanation. “Not that we don’t trust her but the fewer folks who know we’re looking at him, the better.”
“I’ll try.” She gestured open-handed, doubting she’d produce the result they needed. “What about his parents? Can’t you show photos of this Nassor to them and ask if he’s their son?”
“We haven’t located his parents. The police went to their home and learned from neighbors they’d left Cairo during the uprising and haven’t returned. They’re staying with family somewhere out of the city. The neighbors don’t know where.”
“I wonder why they haven’t come back?”
“Probably waiting to see how settled the new government is. There could be more civil strife if the people don’t like the new president or any reforms he puts forth. I’d stay away for awhile too,” Atakan offered and gave her the face shots.
“If it turns out Nassor isn’t who he says he is, then what?”
“We identify him and await orders from the Ministry. Firat may want us to take him into custody immediately for questioning. Or, we may keep him under watch. The only reason for him to be here is the artifacts. I prefer to wait and watch. I’d like to know who he’s working for or with,” Atakan said.
Iskender nodded in agreement. “Questioning him before he makes a move doesn’t get us much.”
More risk for Atakan, as though Tischenko wasn’t enough. It seemed more and more Nuray was right. Charlotte was truly a lodestone for danger and her presence a threat to him. Even as she sent her resume out, deep down a part of her clung to the belief the accusation was wrong. She wasn’t bad luck for Atakan. She only sent out the inquiries to placate Nuray. The turn of events snuffed out that futile belief.
Hopefully, he wouldn’t tell Nuray about this development. If he did, the next email Charlotte received wouldn’t be pleading but more accusing and definitely uglier.
“I’ll let you know when I’m finished.” Sick at heart, Charlotte left.
Chapter Forty-Two
“I want to meet with you,” Omar demanded, “today.”
Darav’s brows lifted a notch at the tone. He m
ade the demands, not Omar. “Are you insane? I’m still in Cyprus. I cannot leave and go to Iraq.”
“We aren’t in Iraq. We’re in Cyprus too.”
We? “What are you doing here? And, who is with you?”
“You’ll learn soon enough. We are not far from the Salamis Bay Conti Hotel. They have a casino. Meet me at the roulette table next to the cashier’s window. When can you come?”
“No,” Darav said firmly, hiding the creeping uneasiness that started with the unexpected call and worsened with Omar’s demand for a meet. “I can’t chance being seen with you until our raid. There’s a BP station half a kilometer north of the hotel with an outdoor seating area. I’ll meet you at 5:00 this afternoon.” Darav clicked off.
Outside the men’s quarters, the voices of Derek and his friends grew louder as they approached. Darav rose from the cot and left before the men arrived. He needed to be alone and to think.
He walked behind camp for several minutes to a clump of olive trees where he wouldn’t be disturbed. Sitting on a patch of shade under a tree, he went over what Omar’s arrival possibly meant.
Omar had a stupid beast’s animal cunning that came with a dangerous persuasive tongue. Loyalties to Darav among the group were strong with a slight majority, slight enough to keep the others from challenging his leadership, so far. He wasn’t blind to the vulnerabilities of those claiming allegiance to him. He’d witnessed what a slippery commodity loyalty could be. Had Omar swayed the weak ones to his side? Darav took a mental roll call of his followers, taking the measure of each. After an analysis, he tempered his worry. Abdullah and Mustafa, two of his most reliable supporters, skillful themselves with words, would prevent potential insurrection on Omar’s part.
Concern still hovered in the back of Darav’s mind. Why had Abdullah and Mustafa allowed Omar and others to come to Cyprus? He called Abdullah’s cell first and got no answer. Then, he tried Mustafa’s, which also went unanswered. Finally, he reached Havva.
“Havva, where are Abdullah and Mustafa?”
“Darav, hello—”
“Put Abdullah on the line, now.”
“We’ll speak later.” Havva hung up.
His initial uneasiness disappeared. A sick, sinking feeling of foreboding filled him as he listened to the silence for a long moment before putting the phone away.
#
Recovery work done for the day, the divers had all returned to camp and then gone their separate ways. Darav waited until he was alone in the men’s quarters to dig through his duffle bag. Under the stiff cardboard bottom, he’d made a slit and hidden his K-Bar knife, the one he used on Nassor Jafari. He unfolded it into the locked, open position, and then secreted it in the small of his back. He walked around the room, testing how well the knife stayed in place, held there by the waistband of his shorts and underwear. Satisfied when it didn’t slip, he pulled one of his dirty cotton shirts from the net hamper he used. The shirt stunk of sweat and the other dirty clothes, but it was the baggiest he owned. He put it on and checked himself in the mirror to make certain the weapon didn’t show or bulge. Then, he made the twenty minute walk to the BP station.
A flat rock roof that looked hastily extended from the station’s main building covered a scattering of tables. Omar, Goker, and Turgay crowded around a rusty aluminum table on folding chairs.
An invisible band had tightened across his chest when he saw who the other two were that constituted the we Omar indicated. Darav retreated and stepped behind a corner of the gas station’s garage wall before the three noticed him. He took a fortifying breath. He had to appear confident and strong when he faced the group. Any inkling of fear, Omar would sense. Darav fingered his secreted knife, finding courage and reassurance there. He inhaled deeply and exhaled long and slow several times, then stepped into view.
Omar had his feet propped up on the empty fourth chair. All were laughing and drinking beer when Darav stepped into the patio area.
“Diver Darav, good of you to come,” Omar said and pushed the chair he’d been resting his feet on toward Darav with his foot. “Sit, have a beer with your compatriots.”
Omar snapped his fingers. A bored looking girl sitting on a stool next to a glass-front cooler glanced up from her magazine.
“Two more,” Omar said.
She flipped through a couple more pages of the magazine before fishing two bottles of beer from the cooler and bringing them to the table.
Omar handed one to Darav. Opening the other, he took a deep swig.
Darav eyed Goker and Turgay, powerful supporters of Omar’s. He sat, turning his attention to Omar. “What are you doing here and where are you staying? How dare you use precious funds for this unwelcome visit?”
“You needn’t worry about money. The orphan’s charity in Hakkari funneled us the cash we required. As to where we are staying,” he shot Goker and Turgay a lopsided smirk, then turned back to Darav, “We acquired a derelict fishing boat off Kyrenia.”
“You mean you stole a boat.”
Omar shrugged. “The point is we are here.”
“Why?”
“It has been weeks since we’ve had word from you. You cannot tell us that nothing of value has been found. We ask you why the delay in the raid?”
“I told you we recovered a chest of gold religious artifacts and several pieces of valuable jewelry.”
Omar laughed aloud, drops of beer spraying into the air. “Artifacts, such a grand word,” he said to Goker and Turgay, “Listen to him, suddenly Darav is the big archaeologist.”
“Where are Abdullah and Mustafa?”
“Things have changed in your absence. We voted. They are no longer part of the raid. We’ve chosen ourselves. That’s not all we voted on. You are not our leader anymore. I am. And I have decided not to wait for you to give us permission when you see fit.”
The dark thought his friends might not be alive sent a shock wave through his system. What madness had occurred? Omar was riding high on his newfound power. He’d like nothing better to show himself for the leader he always alleged he was.
“It is too soon to act. I am on-site. I alone know when the time is right.”
“There’s been nothing since this chest of religious rubbish. We’ve—” he looked to Goker and Turgay who gave him slight nods of support, “waited long enough. We take what you’ve got, sell it to your Russian, and go back to camp. No more wasted time on this foolish dream of yours.”
“Gold coins are scattered along the seafloor. We begin to collect those tomorrow. They have value and I’m sure we’ll find more relics of worth. The dive season is not over. We wait.”
“A few paltry coins,” he sneered, spitting out the word coins like he had knowledge of their worth. “No. We will not wait that long. You do not have final say. I do. I say we’ll give you a few weeks, then we raid the camp, whether you are with us or against us.”
Message received. The threat was clear. Omar had never been a man to mince words. Darav was expendable. He’d live as long as it was convenient for Omar. To argue further with him served little purpose. Whatever happened at their Qandil hideout, clearly it emboldened Omar. Reasoning with him was useless. Fear of the man won over Darav’s hatred. If they survived the raid, the first chance he had, he’d kill Omar, maybe Goker and Turgay too, just to make a point. But, for now, he’d agree with Omar’s wishes.
“I’ll need lead-in time,” Darav said. “This must be well planned. Mr. Chernikovich has agreed to supply us with a getaway boat. We’ll meet with him at a pre-designated location of his choice. Out of Cyprus waters. Getting from the camp to the getaway boat is the main challenge. If we’re sloppy, we’ll be caught or killed.”
“We’ll stay in touch.”
“It’s better if I contact you,” Darav said, striving to exercise a fractional amount of control. “With diving and all, I might not have the time to meet when you want.”
“Find the time.”
Chapter Forty-Three
Atakan a
nd Iskender sat a corner table in the dining room discussing the next step in their investigation of Nassor. They instantly ceased their talk when Saska plopped down next to Atakan. She held a stack of newspaper articles she’d printed out.
“I’ve been looking for you both. I’d like to ask you about the ‘Kurdish Problem,’” she said and laid the printouts on the table in front of Atakan.
“The ‘Kurdish Problem?’” Atakan repeated, skimming the headlines of the articles she’d brought.
“Yes. I’d like your opinion on how your government is handling the situation. I’d like your opinion too,” she said with an ingratiating smile that used to charm him and with a glance to Iskender.
“Is the source of your terminology the paper?”
“One of them. I’ve been reading through archived stories in the Hurriyet Daily News. I’ve seen the situation referenced this way in several articles.”
Now why would a journalist who specialized in archaeological stories be suddenly interested in the politics of his country? And, why this issue?
“I have no opinion. I am not privy to the intentions of parliament or the negotiations by government officials regarding any issues before them.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly, recognizing the evasion for what it was and looked to Iskender.
“Sorry, I cannot give an opinion either,” he added with a faint smile, staring down her skeptical look.
“You don’t have to be involved in the insider talks to have an opinion,” she said, turning back to Atakan.
“Why are you so interested in the internal workings of my country? As I understand it, your congress has unresolved...” he started to say problems and then reconsidered, “matters with ongoing debate. Perhaps, as a journalist, you are better served to address those matters before concerning yourself in ours.”
Saska stiffened at the mention of the contentious American Congress. “Point taken. Maybe I will, down the road. So, bottom line, you’re refusing to make any statement regarding my question,” she said with an almost imperceptible jut of her chin. “Why? Don’t you trust me?”
Byzantine Gold Page 17
