“Hi, baby.” Chelsea breezed into the hospital room and dropped a bouquet of roses on the bed and a kiss on Marisa’s forehead. Marisa’s left arm and shoulder had been shattered and were now in a cast. The second bullet that struck her had gone through Maskovel’s body first and then glanced off her rib cage. Jesus, she looked pale. “The doctor said you had a good night. We’re going to have you out of here in no time.” She perched on a chair by the bed. “Those reporters haven’t been bothering you, have they?”
Marisa shook her head. “The head nurse hasn’t let them past the station.”
“Great.”
“How’s Caitlin?”
“Not good. She’s like a robot.”
“I guess we couldn’t expect anything else.” Marisa swallowed. “You went to the funeral today?”
“I hoped you wouldn’t remember it was today.” Chelsea leaned over and clasped Marisa’s hand. “I sent flowers in your name.”
“And Peter?”
“He’s being buried tomorrow in West Virginia.”
Tears filled Marisa’s eyes. “He saved my life, you know.”
“I know. Renée saw the whole thing from the hill and told us.”
“He was my friend, Mother.” Two tears rolled down Marisa’s cheeks. “He was gentle and kind and . . . I’ve never met anyone I felt so close to.”
“Then keep him with you always. Never forget him.”
Chelsea’s hand tightened on Marisa’s. “I never will. He saved a big part of my life too.”
“Did Jonathan go with him?”
Chelsea nodded.
Marisa’s teeth sunk into her lower lip. “I didn’t want him to be alone. His only living relative was a great-aunt and he didn’t care much for her. He was such a lonely man.”
“He had Jonathan for a friend. That was a big plus.”
“Yes.” Marisa wiped her damp cheeks on a corner of the sheet. “Are you going to marry him?”
Chelsea’s eyes widened. “What?”
“Jonathan. He’s a good guy and you love him. Are you going to marry him?”
“Christ, where do you hide your crystal ball? You know I’m not the marrying kind. It’s still going to be just you and me.”
“It’s time it stopped being just you and me. Forget about me. Marry him, Mother.”
“Are you trying to get rid of me?”
“I’m trying to untie the albatrosses you insist on wearing around your neck.”
“What a disgusting thought.” Chelsea wrinkled her nose with delicate distaste. “All those stinking feathers. I hope I have more fashion sense than that.” She avoided Marisa’s unrelenting stare. “You’re not going to let me slip around this, are you?”
“No.”
“God, you’re stubborn.” Her index finger began tracing patterns on the sheet. “He’s going to be the next president, baby.”
“So?”
“You know that I—”
“Dear God in heaven.” Marisa’s mouth had fallen open. “You’ve found someone else to protect.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay.” Marisa paused. “There are more important things to talk about now anyway.”
Chelsea looked at her warily. “What things?”
“Leave it alone, Mother.”
“What?”
“It’s too dangerous. Let the authorities handle it. Stay out of it.”
“I don’t have much respect for the wheels of justice these days.” Chelsea should have known Marisa, who knew her best, would guess her reaction to this atrocity. “You almost bled to death.”
“I didn’t die. I’m going to be fine.”
Chelsea withdrew her hand and tried to keep the fierceness from her tone. “Ferrazo doesn’t deserve to live, and neither does Ledford.”
“I don’t deserve to have to worry about you.”
“Low blow.” Chelsea met her gaze. “Listen, what if it was me lying in this bed? What would you want to do?”
Marisa smiled tremulously. “Low blow.”
Chelsea leaned forward and kissed her. “Face it. It’s in the genes, baby. You’re a fighter, exactly like me.” She stood and picked up the bouquet on the bed. “I have to put these in water.”
“Mother, don’t do—”
“Don’t worry, I promise not to pull a Rambo, and I won’t leave you until you’re ready to be shipped home to California.” She suddenly frowned. “I only hope Caitlin and Alex don’t get the bastards before I get to Istanbul.”
Marisa shook her head resignedly. “And I hope they do.”
It was close to midnight when Kemal and Caitlin arrived at the cottage on the Bosporus.
Alex was in the kitchenette and looked up as the front door opened. “I made coffee. Would you like some?”
“No, thank you.” Caitlin went through the living room toward her bedroom. “I’m very tired. Good night.”
A moment later the door closed behind her.
“She is not the same.” Kemal stared worriedly at the doorway through which Caitlin had disappeared. “I do not like it.”
“Do you think I do?” Alex’s tone was fierce as he poured coffee into the cup in front of him. “She doesn’t talk, she doesn’t smile. She’s not there. She’s been like this since that first day at Vasaro.”
“Shock,” Kemal said. “I saw it sometimes with the children in the Harem. They do not want to believe what has happened to them, so they close part of themselves away.”
“And how long does it last?”
“Years, sometimes.” Kemal shook his head. “But that was not so bad. At least that part of them was inviolate. The situation with Caitlin is different. There is danger when you are too numb to fear.” His gaze shifted to Alex’s face. “While we were waiting for you to check out the cottage she asked me if it was possible to smuggle her into the Harem so that she could find out more about Adnan.”
“Christ.”
“I told her it would do no good. Adnan hasn’t shown up again since you left for Vasaro.”
“Where the hell could he be?”
“It’s been only seven days,” Kemal reminded him.
Seven days. Those days at Vasaro seemed to encompass a lifetime of guilt and pain. Caitlin’s pain, his own guilt. Alex’s hand tightened on the coffee cup. “She has to snap out of it. It’s too dangerous for it to go on.”
“She’s full of hate for Ledford. Vengeance can be a great liberator.”
“Not for Caitlin. She thinks she wants vengeance now, but it’s against her basic beliefs.”
Kemal smiled at Alex. “But not against ours.”
“No. But Caitlin’s not like us.”
“So what do we do?”
“Make her stop thinking about death and think about life.”
“The circumstances are not of the best for that to occur.”
“There’s always a way if you look at the problem in the right perspective.”
Kemal raised his brows inquiringly.
“The Wind Dancer. She feels she’s lost everything, but there’s still the Wind Dancer.”
“I do not understand. The Wind Dancer has also been lost.”
“But not the puzzle. We can still try to solve the puzzle.” Alex drank the rest of the coffee in two swallows. “Try, hell. Dammit, we will solve the puzzle. I may not be able to help her in any other way, but I can do that.” He set his cup back on the saucer. “Maskovel was supposed to have a package rushed to the American Express office the day before he died. I want you to pick it up tomorrow morning and bring it to Caitlin.”
Kemal nodded. “I hope she is aware of what a great honor I do her to become a mere errand boy for her sake.”
“I don’t think she’ll allow herself to become aware of a hell of a lot right now,” Alex said wearily.
“But that will change. Patience, Alex.”
Alex glanced at the closed door of Caitlin’s room. “You supply the patience. I’m too scared to wait until she comes o
ut of this on her own. I’m going to blast her out any way I can.”
“I come bearing gifts,” Kemal sang out as Caitlin opened the door for him the next morning. “Come and smile with delight and appreciation.”
Caitlin stepped aside for him to enter and closed the door behind him. “What’s that?”
Kemal set the large box down on the coffee table with a sigh of relief. “You’re lucky I’m strong as a bull. A lesser man would have crumbled beneath this challenge.”
Caitlin felt a distant flicker of amusement. “What is it?”
“I don’t know.” Kemal took out his pocketknife and began cutting the sealing tape around the box. “Something to do with the Wind Dancer. Alex said it came from Peter Maskovel.”
“Peter.” She felt a sharp pang and remembered the last conversation she had with gentle, sunny Peter Maskovel. She watched with stinging eyes as Kemal opened the box.
“Three projectors.” Kemal rummaged further, pulled out a nine-by-twelve padded envelope, and handed it to her. “This is almost as heavy as the projectors.”
“The translation,” she murmured. The information for which she had waited so long was now in her hands. Excitement stirred deep inside her, melting an infinitesimal bit of the ice enveloping her emotions.
Kemal delved still deeper into the box, brought out another large envelope, and handed that one to her. “All kinds of treasures.”
She opened the envelope, looked inside, then closed it quickly. “Just photographs.”
“May I?” Kemal held out his hand.
Caitlin hesitated, and then handed him the envelope.
Kemal took out the photographs and began leafing through them. “I like flowers. How beautiful was your Vasaro.”
“Yes, it was.”
He glanced up, his dark eyes suddenly glowing with sympathy. “You had this joy but now you have it no longer. Now you must open yourself to other joys. I do not mean to offend by being callous, but losses must be faced.”
“I have faced it.”
“I do not think you have.” He glanced down at the pictures again. “But I will help to—who is this?”
He had stopped flipping through the photographs and was staring at one picture, his expression curiously arrested.
Caitlin glanced at the photograph. “That’s Marisa Benedict.”
“The young girl who was shot?” Kemal’s expression hardened. “Sons of bitches.”
“Yes.”
Kemal continued to study the picture. “I believe her to be extraordinary.” His eyes narrowed on Marisa’s face. “But she doesn’t laugh, does she?”
Caitlin looked at him, startled. “Laugh? I suppose she doesn’t go around with a big grin on her face, but she’s not—” Caitlin stopped as she realized she couldn’t remember ever hearing Marisa laugh.
Kemal nodded. “She smiles but she does not laugh. This is not good. Someone should teach her to laugh.”
“Everyone cares about Marisa. I’m sure . . .” Caitlin trailed off, staring at him in bemusement. “How did you know she doesn’t laugh?”
“Sien mien.”
“What?”
“It’s the ancient Chinese art of reading facial expressions. I studied it at one time.”
“For a moment I thought it was your second sight.” Caitlin smiled faintly. “And, of course, you’ve become an expert on the subject.”
“Of course.” He took the photograph and stuffed it in the pocket of his jeans. “I keep this. Okay?”
“If you wish.”
“I wish very much.” He lifted one of the projectors out of the box. “Now I take these into the study and set them up for you. Come along and show me where you want them.” He strode quickly toward the study.
Caitlin looked down at the envelope containing the translation and felt that flutter of excitement start within her.
Clutching the envelope tightly, she followed Kemal into the study. “Put the projectors on a chair in the corner of the room. We’ll use the desk as a pedestal and focus and situate the other two projectors at angles that will—”
“Star Wars,” Kemal murmured as he gazed enraptured at the hologram of the Wind Dancer. “In the movie the actors played a three-dimensional game. Is this the same?”
“I think the filmmakers used special effects, this is the real thing.” Caitlin adjusted the projector closest to her. “I don’t know exactly how the motion picture film is made, but I’ve learned the basic principle of holograms. It’s all done with lasers. The light coming from the laser is split to create two beams called an object beam and a reference beam. The object beam is spread by lenses and reflected by a mirror to the object you want to film. Light waves from the object are in turn reflected toward photographic film.”
Alex stood in the doorway of the study, listening to Caitlin, but neither she nor Kemal realized he was there. The curtains at the window had been drawn, bringing an early dusk to the study, and they were both kneeling on the floor, looking up at the hologram of the Wind Dancer. Even in the dimness Alex could discern the eagerness, the openness, of Caitlin’s expression and felt something hot and primitive twist inside him. Kemal had made her look like this. Kemal had managed to break through to her when he could not.
“At the same time the reference beam is also spread and directed toward the film but without striking the object. The beams merge, interfering with each other to create new patterns. The interference patterns strike the film plate and expose the photographic emulsion.” Caitlin absently ruffled her short curls. “Light waves from every spot on the object interact with the reference beam and are recorded everywhere on the film. Then, when the film is developed, the interference pattern becomes permanent.”
“Very interesting,” Kemal said in a bored tone. “Don’t go on. You really know how to destroy one’s illusions.”
Caitlin chuckled. “You’re like Gaston. He didn’t like logical explanations either, but he was only six years old.”
“A clever boy.”
Alex felt alone, shut out, raw. He deliberately shifted where he stood to make them aware of his presence.
“Ah, there you are,” Kemal said. “Come and see this wonder. It’s truly magic.”
Alex watched Caitlin stiffen and her smile fade as she looked at him. The knife twisted inside him. “Abracadabra.”
Caitlin’s gaze flew back to the hologram. “You’ve been gone a long time. Where have you been?”
“I went to see Moduhl at the museum.”
She went still. “Why?”
“I thought he’d had enough time to remember where he had seen the inscription.”
“And had he?”
“After a certain amount of judicious probing. That’s what took so long.” He smiled faintly. “You’d have been proud of me. I kept after him with the same persistence that’s made you famous.”
“Notorious is a better word. Where had he seen it?”
“He was at a dig in the Tarsus Mountains five years ago near a village called Tamkalo. The dig was abandoned for lack of funds and the most valuable finds were transported to the museum in Ankara. The villagers asked that some of the relics be left in the makeshift museum they created in hopes of drawing tourists from the coast.” He paused. “But the piece of the tablet on which he saw that particular script wasn’t found in the dig itself. The child of a worker brought it down from the mountain.”
“Like Moses?” Kemal asked.
“Hardly,” Alex said. “The boy found a broken piece of a tablet in a cave and brought it down to the archaeologists for cold, hard cash.”
“Then the rest of the tablet could still be in the cave,” Caitlin said.
“Possibly.”
Kemal stood up, turned off the remote, and the Wind Dancer disappeared from the desk. “So we go to Tamkalo.”
“Caitlin and I go to Tamkalo,” Alex said. “You stay here in case you get word on Ledford or Irmak.”
“It’s just as well. I do not like to climb mountai
ns.” He grinned. “Instead, I shall desert my cockroaches and move in here to protect your property.”
“How self-sacrificing of you.”
“Yes, I have a great heart. When do you leave?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
“You will need a jeep. I will rent one and outfit it with all manner of fine outdoor equipment.”
“We can do without gold pegs for the tents.”
“Pity. I know just where to find such treasures and was going to charge you an extra fee for them.”
“I’m sure the fee will be high enough.”
“Me too. The jeep will be outside the gate at six tomorrow morning.” Kemal held out his hand. “I’ll need to make myself a key if I am to properly safeguard your possessions.”
Alex reached into his pocket and handed him the brass key that unlocked the gate and the front door. “You’re sure this is no trouble?” he asked dryly. “I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.”
“Trust me. All will be well.” Kemal turned to Caitlin and smiled gently. “This will be good for you. Let go all the bad memories and let yourself heal.” He didn’t wait for an answer as he walked out of the study.
Alex followed Kemal across the living room to the front door. “I’ll try to call you here at least once a day for a report. You might get off your duff and try to find Irmak.”
“I am trying.” The sharpness of Alex’s tone caused Kemal to turn to look at him in surprise. Then his own expression lit with understanding and he added softly, “Do not be angry with me. I did not do it. It’s the statue that is making her come alive.”
On one level Alex realized what Kemal said was true. But, dammit, Caitlin didn’t grow stiff and wary when she looked at Kemal. “I don’t know what you mean. That’s the purpose of the exercise.”
“A painful exercise for you. Someday she will know.” Kemal closed the door behind him.
“We’re really going?” Caitlin stood in the doorway of the study.
“Of course.” He took only a glancing look at her eager face and went to his bedroom.
Jealous. Christ, he was seething, burning with jealousy. He was jealous of Kemal, jealous of that damned translation, even jealous of the Wind Dancer. He had never felt this way before, and he didn’t like it.
Reap the Wind Page 35
