Golden Chariot

by Chris Karlsen

  “I want the truth. Your concerns and impressions aren’t important to this investigation. Your party is at the core of serious events. Mr. Zeren and Miss Hilliard arrived yesterday morning. You arrived in the afternoon. In a matter of hours, a stranger sinks your gulet. Then, that boat mysteriously explodes, and the only man who has any answers is missing.”

  “I don’t know how, or why, Ekrem thought he knew the other boat,” she said with more heat than was prudent. “I’m a visiting archaeologist, period.”

  She tapped down her irritation. This wasn’t the man to take a hostile attitude with.

  “Speaking of Ekrem,” she said, in an even tone, “he should be here by now. He stayed onboard to place an urgent call. He was only a couple of minutes behind us. We watched from the end of the pier and saw him dive into the water. Are your people searching for him?”

  Petalas told her to “turn around.” She did, and he pointed to a patrol boat weaving a slow, horizontal pattern across the marina. A flood light on the stern lit the area as they went.

  “We are. Finding your missing friend is a critical concern to us too,” he said. “This urgent call, did Mr. Zeren say who he needed to contact?”

  “No.”

  The patrol boat circled around and stopped, idling in one spot. The crew kept the light fixed on a small area. One of their divers entered the water. She couldn’t see what drew their attention. Another officer joined the one operating the light. The diver waved and the second man threw something from the boat out to him.

  A message came over Petalas’s radio. He answered, nodding as he listened. Charlotte didn’t understand Greek, but she had a sick feeling she knew what they were telling him.

  She looked out toward the search area and squinted, staring hard at the water in the circle of light. There was a burst of activity on the boat. The diver resurfaced. He and the crew struggled with whatever they’d seen as they tried to bring it onto their boat. She knew what it was.

  “You found Ekrem?”

  Petalas offered only a simple, “Yes.”

  “He’s dead, isn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  With him went the only person who could verify her statement and explain the reason for her presence on the gulet.

  Chapter Four

  The water of Santorini’s caldera basin sparkled, the bursts of light an endless display on the surface.

  “Who’d believe something so beautiful can come from such a cataclysmic event,” Charlotte said. “A volcanic eruption so horrific, Vesuvius pales by comparison. It tests the imagination. Yet, it left behind this dazzling sight.”

  She put her cup down. “Forgive me, Mr. Vadim that was inappropriate. I don’t mean to diminish the seriousness of the circumstances with talk about scenery.”

  “I know. Please call me Atakan.” He lifted the lid on the pot of coffee in front of her and signaled the waiter for another.

  “I’m sorry about your friend and for Heather, of course. I visited her for a few minutes this morning to express my condolences.” Charlotte’s heart went out to the woman. What a terrible, tragic end to the start of a lovely romantic weekend. “Did you know Ekrem a long time?”

  “Ten years. We started at the Ministry of Culture at the same time. Everyone is shocked by his death. I, myself, find the circumstances hard to believe. Ekrem was an excellent swimmer, a strong swimmer.”

  “You’re not alone. The authorities here find the circumstances difficult to believe too. Have you met Lieutenant Petalas?” Charlotte wrinkled her nose. “He and his partner grilled Heather and me something fierce. They acted like we were involved in some illegal activity that went wrong.”

  Charlotte left out Petalas’s love triangle insinuation. Due to the seriousness of the incident, general information would be sent to the Maritime Institute’s administration. She didn’t need scandal added to the mix.

  Atakan looked puzzled. “Grilled? How do you mean this word?”

  “Their manner of questioning us was unpleasant, metaphorically heated with innuendo, Petalas’s in particular.”

  “He’s doing his job,” Atakan said. “And yes, he and I met. We went out early this morning to the site where they found Ekrem. He was one-hundred meters from where the gulet sank, half the distance to the shoreline. I’ve seen him swim twice that and in far more treacherous waters.”

  He stopped talking as the waiter set a fresh pot of coffee in front of Charlotte. She thanked him. When the waiter left, Atakan relaxed back in his chair.

  “I read your statement. You’ve had time to calm down since then. Are you certain Ekrem never said who rammed the gulet?”

  “He said, he maybe knew.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes.”

  The question perplexed her. She assumed when Atakan and the Turkish team arrived so fast, he was the associate Ekrem called. If so, then Ekrem told him who he suspected. Why was Atakan asking her to repeat the information?

  “Did you see any of the other boat’s crew?”

  “No. The trawler was headed out of the harbor when we reached the deck.”

  “When you first arrived, did you notice anyone loitering at the marina?”

  “No, but I wasn’t paying attention. I was only looking for Ekrem.”

  “No stranger struck up a conversation with you? Try to remember.”

  “No.”

  Atakan appeared lost in thought as he sipped his coffee.

  Still confused by the questions, she asked, “Weren’t you the person Ekrem called from the gulet? What did he tell you?”

  Charlotte tried to get a handle on his thought process. Did he think she knew more and wasn’t being forthright? Had the Greek authorities planted that seed? On one level, she understood Petalas’s difficulty accepting her denial of knowledge. The bizarre incident left a lot of unanswered questions. She worried his suspicions might jade Atakan. As a representative of the Ministry of Culture, his impression of the situation, and of her, was crucial to her position with MIAR.

  “You haven’t touched your coffee,” he said, ignoring her question. “Did you go straight to the marina from the airport?”

  “Yes.”

  “No one made idle conversation with you at the airport or while you waited for your taxi?”

  “No, I didn’t speak to anyone.” She sighed. “I told Petalas, and I will tell you. I’ll sign a written affidavit or whatever is required as to what occurred. Everything is in my statement. Why are you asking me to repeat all this?”

  “I merely want to know the sequence of events prior to the incident.”

  He sipped more coffee and was quiet for a long uncomfortable moment. He glanced around at the other tables. The taverna was filled with customers eating brunch and enjoying the scenery. His attention settled on a few patrons, then moved away. Did he wonder if the suspect sat among the crowd? It was a chilling possibility she hadn’t considered.

  From her perspective, she just wanted to go. The restaurant noise level was obnoxious. The clinking of dishes, the loud waiters, and the talk from other tables grew worse by the minute. Her eyes burned. Her shoulders ached. She felt like she’d been run over by a truck. The last hours were a nightmare she’d never forget. Between the gulet incident, Ekrem’s death, and the worrisome stigma of Petalas’s innuendoes, she was anxious to get the hell out of Santorini.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I need to clear my bill. I leave for Bodrum this afternoon.” Charlotte slid her chair back and started to rise.

  “Before you go, I have one more question, if you don’t mind.”

  She did mind, but she couldn’t afford to alienate him. “I’m very tired. It was a long night, and I haven’t slept.”

  “I’ll be brief.”

  “Ask away.” She forced a polite smile and dropped down in the chair.

  “Did Ekrem tell you why he invited you onto the boat?”

  “To discuss the MIAR project.”

  “Did he?”

  She shook
her head. “He said we’d talk today.”

  “The Bronze Age shipwreck, positions on that recovery operation were much sought after. You’re quite lucky to be chosen.”

  “I know.”

  He put his empty cup down and moved the pot and cup to the edge of the table. The waiter approached with a fresh pot, but Atakan waved him away. He leaned forward with his elbows on the table.

  “I’m curious, how did you get picked out of dozens of applicants?”

  The change in body language, the subtle shift in his tone, from casual to brusque, set off alarm bells in her head. She knew a little about interrogation methods. The conversation had the undercurrent of one.

  “What difference does it make?”

  “Like I said, I’m curious,” he said. “Why does it bother you to answer?”

  Her discomfort grew. Her entry onto the project was legitimate, but he made it sound otherwise.

  “I have the education and I’m close to completing my doctorate in nautical archaeology. I worked on another recovery so I have experience,” she said. “As you must know, Ekrem worked as an advisor on that project for a short time. When I applied at MIAR, I expressed my deep interest in this particular wreck.”

  “Good qualifications, I agree.” He looked unimpressed. “Not overly unique though.”

  “Is this what Ekrem wanted to talk to me about?”

  Atakan shrugged. “He worked a specialized unit, different than mine. I can offer no opinion on his intent.” He relaxed back in his chair. “What separated you from fellow applicants?”

  She’d skipped the last detail. It wasn’t unethical, but she preferred it not become common knowledge. At this point, she might as well tell him. If he wanted to, he’d find out the information on his own.

  “My stepfather’s corporation made a large donation to MIAR.”

  “Is this what you do, buy your way into projects?”

  “No. I didn’t ask him or his company to donate. It was a gift which, yes, I accepted. For this opportunity, I took advantage of the resources available to me.”

  Atakan’s penetrating stare, his intense dark-eyed study of her as she explained rattled her. Compelled to defend herself, she told him, “Someone has to fill the spot, why not me? I suppose you think that’s unfair.”

  “Benefactors and donations make our work possible.”

  Charlotte noticed he didn’t comment on the fairness question. The second time he let a question hang. “I’d really like to leave now. If there’s a nothing else...”

  “No, I’ve taken enough of your time.”

  “Mr. Vadim--”

  “Atakan.”

  “Sorry, Atakan. This project is important to me. I don’t want any problems.”

  “Of course not. I’m afraid my curiosity has upset you.”

  “Not at all.” Relieved, she pushed her chair back and stood. “Perhaps we’ll meet under more pleasant circumstances down the road.” Charlotte extended her hand.

  Standing when she rose, Atakan said, “Perhaps,” and shook her hand.

  #

  Atakan called Director Savas Firat on his private line. He’d butted heads with the abrasive Director on several occasions. Much as Atakan disliked the man personally, he respected Firat’s absolute dedication to preserving the country’s cultural heritage. He gave his investigators near carte blanche when pursuing artifact smugglers. Firat’s reaction to the murder of one of his unit was lightning swift. He’d grant the investigator in charge even greater latitude than on smuggling cases.

  “Director, its Vadim. Anything back from the passport information on Charlotte Dashiell?”

  “Interpol has nothing on her. I contacted the Americans. The State Department has initiated a background check.”

  Atakan took the file he’d obtained from Petalas’s aide and read through the copies of her passport entry stamps. Her travels were concentrated in the region of the Aegean and Mediterranean during the summer months. Probably diving. This trip was her first extended stay visa from Turkish immigration. She’d visited numerous times for shorter periods during the winter when the dive season was over.

  Where did she go when she wasn’t diving?

  Tischenko kept a place in Sevastopol. The overnight ferry from Istanbul to Sevastopol was easy transportation. Atakan fanned through the passport entries but didn’t see a Ukrainian Immigration stamp. That only proved she hadn’t been to the Ukraine. Tischenko could’ve met her in Istanbul. Geographic proximity with no other evidence to link her to him was weak. In any other case, he’d disregard the improbable connection. Her association with Sun Bear Corporation and the unethical Waterman was the Ministry’s original issue. The circumstances of Ekrem’s death changed everything. Atakan had to approach the investigation from a different angle.

  He closed the file.

  “You talked to her. What did she say?”

  “Ekrem hurried the women off the boat before he called me. Her account of the attack is relatively vague, as is Heathers. Nothing of value came from our conversation,” Atakan replied.

  “Bah, you interview her yet got nothing, no useful information. A waiter could tell me as much.”

  Atakan gritted his teeth and took the insult.

  “What do the Greek authorities think?” Firat asked.

  “They’re suspicious because of the timing, like we are.”

  “She arrives and the same day an experienced investigator ends up dead. What’s your take on it?”

  “Tough call, could be a simple case of wrong place, wrong time. Or, if she’s working with Waterman, she figured by getting rid of Ekrem, she eliminated the obstacle a Ministry official presented.”

  “You think she didn’t realize another Ministry rep would replace him?”

  “Who knows?” Atakan thought for a moment. “She’s never worked a Turkish project. She may not be aware of our policy. She leaves today for Bodrum to start on the MIAR project. Have me reassigned to their team. If she’s involved with Tischenko or Waterman, I will discover the truth.”

  Chapter Five

  Athens

  “Aaron, my friend, everything is in place on my end.”

  Stevan met Aaron Waterman a few times over the years. A London antique dealer who purchased smuggled artifacts introduced them. When the American called and suggested a partnership, his first inclination was to decline. But, when Waterman described his plan, Stevan found it financially irresistible.

  Stevan put the phone on speaker and opened the humidor. “My associate is on the recovery team. I’m confident we’ll acquire, if not our exact desires, other profitable pieces.”

  “Still keeping your associate’s identity secret from me, I see,” Waterman said.

  Stevan selected a Dunhill from his humidor, sniffed the body, and then clipped the end. “Don’t pretend offense. As we agree, no names are necessary, only results,” he said, lighting the cigar.

  “Fine. The only important name is Charlotte’s. When the time comes, she’ll ping the Turk’s radar like an F-18,” Waterman chuckled.

  Stevan listened. Strange people, the Americans, they love combat terms. Fighting and war is always in the forefront of their thoughts.

  “Pardon the expression, the Trojan War is her Achille’s Heel. My business partner, Frank, mentioned the wreck and her obsession with Troy and doing her dissertation on the topic. As he’s talking, I’m thinking this is a win-win opportunity.”

  “Doesn’t it bother you to use your partner’s daughter in this way?”

  “She’s Frank’s stepdaughter. Am I bothered? Hell, no. The arrogant bitch is the perfect scapegoat. The Ministry will never believe she isn’t the thief.”

  Waterman had the breathless sound of a man in the throes of orgasm, like he wanted to fuck Charlotte Dashiell in other ways.

  “I believe there’s more to it,” Stevan replied, curious about Aaron’s real motive.

  “You talk like a shrink.”

  “You’re condemning a young woman to pr
ison.”

  “And your point?”

  “You’re friends with her family. You’ve known her a long time. I wonder why.”

  “I don’t owe you an explanation for the same reason you don’t have to tell me the name of your associate on the team.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “Which brings up the question, what the hell were you thinking, ordering the boat she was on rammed? You want to kill some Turk investigator fine, but you risked killing her too. Lose her and our plan goes into the toilet.”

  “I wasn’t behind the attack. I knew nothing about it until afterward,” Stevan lied. Ekrem’s death was a personal matter. Like the Dashiell woman was none of his concern, Ekrem was none of Waterman’s business. Theirs was a financial relationship, nothing more. Waterman had money. Stevan needed it.

  “Who was it then?”

  “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. I don’t anticipate any other interference.”

  “You’d better be right.”

  “Don’t threaten me, Aaron.”

  “You’re no different than any business partner of mine. Control the situation, or I’m out.”

  Waterman hung up.

  “Bastard,” Stevan said to the dead line.

  Chapter Six

  Bodrum, Turkey

  “Incredible,” Charlotte said, admiring the diptych. Other team members murmured similar appreciation.

  “Yes, a magnificent find. A fishing boat snagged a large amphora in its net and brought the piece to us. Inside we found the ingots,” Refik Mahir, the team leader, indicated the stack of lapis lazuli rounds. “Under them was a layer of brushwood dunnage. The book was buried beneath the branches.”

  He rolled out a detailed map of the Bozburun Peninsula with the degrees of longitude and latitude indicated. “The captain logged the location. An underwater survey of the area revealed our Bronze Age shipwreck.”

  The archaeologists pressed closer to the diptych for a better examination. For them, the recovery of a three-thousand year old book was sublime inspiration. The discovery of such a magnificent relic, interpreting the who, what, and where of its origin added another page to the narrative of an ancient culture.

  The ivory hinge that once held the two wooden tablets together had broken into several pieces. Most of the wax with its written message had worn away. Charlotte and the rest tried different positions and angles, looking for the best one to read the symbols.