Golden Chariot

by Chris Karlsen

  “I’m interested in both sisters. I’d like to know more about their background.”

  “What’s happened?”

  “Nothing specific but I’ve an uncomfortable feeling,” Atakan said, unsure of Firat’s response to the vagary.

  “What’s going on with the Dashiell woman?”

  “I haven’t discussed Waterman with her yet. There isn’t much to implicate her in the attack on Ekrem. Her brother arrived today. He knew the case was upgraded to a murder, which brings up another issue. Someone in Interpol with connections to the Greeks leaked the information to him. Charlotte wasn’t aware of the status until he told her.”

  “Is the case compromised?”

  “No, not yet, her brother isn’t above interfering though. Whoever the leak is, they told him about Tischenko.”

  “How much does he know?” Firat sounded worried.

  “He knows Tischenko is a Ukrainian killer for hire. He asked me very pointed questions. I remained vague, of course.”

  “I’ll talk to the Greeks and Interpol about the leak. I don’t see how this problem involves the Schweigers. They’re not part of Ekrem’s investigation. To my knowledge, they never had contact with him professionally. Is there more to your request than an uncomfortable feeling?”

  “Just my instinctive sense something strange is afoot with them. It may be nothing; still, I’d rather we did a check.”

  “We ran a background before approving them, but I’ll assign someone to delve deeper. I’ll have a subtle conversation with Yasar about her. Take care of the Waterman-Dashiell issue soon.”

  The cloying, sweet scent of Chanel No. 5 drifted over. The fragrance jolted Atakan out of the conversation. He couldn’t put a name to any other perfume, only that one. An ex-girlfriend applied it with abandon, in spite of his objections to her overuse. The phone to his ear, he turned. Behind him a couple walked arm-in-arm toward the gardens. Movement near the path where the couple came from caught his eye.

  “Atakan,” the Director continued on the other end. “Are you there?”

  “Yes,” he said low. “I have to go. I’ll call you back in a minute.” Atakan snapped the cell phone shut.

  A flash of white, perfect teeth showed behind a faint smile as she crushed a cigarette under her foot.

  “Atakan.”

  “Ursula.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  The divers Charlotte and Atakan relieved had filled a long basket with several mortise-and-tenon pieces of hull. On deck, the teams who’d finished with their dives helped with the unloading. Large sections of the frame’s cedar planks remained missing. Everyone was thrilled with what they’d recovered, but hoped to locate more for the reconstruction.

  “Are we collecting other hull sections?” Charlotte asked, climbing onto the deck ladder.

  “No.” Refik handed her a chisel and hammer. “You two concentrate on the primary cargo area.

  Charlotte took the tools and hooked them to a metal loop on her utility belt. She slid her mask down and adjusted the fit and then lowered herself down to the guide line.

  Atakan followed.

  Fast currents stirred the sand and silt from the seabed. The turbulence slowed their progress as they repositioned the stationary light. They’d dragged the cable across the bottom, disturbing the sand, briefly clouding the water more.

  When the water cleared, miniscule marine creatures were fuzzy flecks of white as they drifted in the bright circle of light. In the dark blue world, the round light resembled the full moon in the night sky. The lamp lit the bubbles from their air hoses as the glistening spheres floated upward, like shooting stars.

  Charlotte, weightless in the saltwater, thought of astronauts in space again. Ground Control to Major Tom, she hummed a jagged version of Space Oddity deep in her throat, interrupting the song as she joined Atakan.

  They removed their fins and clipped them to their belts. Since they’d be inside the hold, it was a necessary precaution to work barefoot. Crustation made many artifacts hard to recognize by sight and too easy to unwittingly step on and damage. They’d slip their fins on again once they left the hold.

  They concentrated on a roped off six-by-six section of the interior near the front of the hold labeled KC. All the grids had alphabetical designations that corresponded to the sequence in which the recovery operation was conducted.

  Atakan stood with his hands on his hips taking in their area. She saw his chest rise and fall and a burst of bubbles escape his mouthpiece with his sigh. They exchanged a look of mutual understanding. Dozens of sealed amphoras poked out. They could contain anything, the remains of fruit for export or import, seeds, or spices. Analysis of the contents would aid in narrowing the time frame the ship sank. Detailed analysis might even identify the originating port. This was the upside. There was a downside. Many of the jars were embedded in rocks from a long ago slide and crusted over. Removal required laborious hammer and chisel work.

  They chipped away on a medium sized amphora. The color was the same as previously recovered pottery, Anatolian Grey. Every piece from the region excited Charlotte. She hoped for one definitive thing linking them to the besieged Troy. One tiny link she could email Mortensen about. She tapped at the crust daydreaming of what they’d find inside this one. Olive oil and wine was generally transported in larger clay vessels. A jar this size might contain valuables other than foodstuffs. Beads, jasper, or lapis-lazuli were common trade items.

  Small chunks of crust broke free as they worked opposite sides of the same piece. She chiseled off at least a little of the rough caking with every tap, unlike Atakan who struggled with a stubborn layer. She glanced over when he stopped suddenly and stepped back, scanning his immediate area. She’d love to ask what he was contemplating. Two of the most frustrating aspects of the underwater operation for her were the inability to talk and the time constraints.

  He slipped his fins on and climbed on top of the pile of sharp-edged volcanic stones. The higher position gave him better leverage. Now as he chiseled, larger chunks came off the jar’s body.

  The hull creaked and moaned around them followed by an eerie rumble, deep and low. It reminded her of a subway train approaching the tunnel but still out of sight. They both stopped to listen. Without knowing what generated the noise, they were ready to swim away from the wreck if necessary. The noise subsided and they continued chiseling.

  Coarse-grained pebbles tumbled down near Charlotte’s work space. Atakan adjusted his stance. He tested the stability, and then wedged one foot into the crevice between the jar and splintered decking planks. He bent closer over the curved surface.

  A loud crack sounded. Everything happened too fast, before either of them had a chance to react. The rocks Atakan stood on collapsed with the shift and ripped through a surviving portion of hull. He was kicking hard against the pull, but momentum from the rush of water through the gap dragged him along. He landed flat on the sea floor. Planks and rocks knocked him to the seabed again as he rolled onto his side. He tried to scramble to his feet but wasn’t fast enough. The debris spilled into the area around him and on top of him. Caught under the wood and stones from the thigh down, he fought to free himself.

  Charlotte dropped her tools and kicked fast toward the bottom. The second rush of falling rocks temporarily forced her back, out of their path. It was over within seconds and she swam to Atakan.

  Thousands of bubbles swirled in front of his face mask before rising. If he were panicked, he’d be engulfed in them. Charlotte had dived with students and friends who, for one reason or another, became frightened. Every time, their breathing changed to rapid, puppy-like pants. The surge of bubbles from Atakan came in measured bursts. They streamed out with each hard breath as he tried to wrench his trapped leg free.

  Chapter Nineteen

  A cold shot of fear raced through Charlotte. A ribbon of green streaked the water around Atakan’s ankle. Colors disappear from the spectrum at different rates based on the depth of the seawater. Red
is the first to change and looks green. The blood swirl had a ghostly, lava lamp quality as it moved toward the surface.

  Had the shipwreck been in colder water they might’ve worn full wet suits. A scorching, week-long heat wave had turned the sea temperature bath tub warm, unlike the camp’s shower water. All the divers shunned the jumpsuit style suit opting for the cooler shorty that left them bare-legged. A few cuts and bruises were worth the trade-off for the comfort.

  She unfastened the orange emergency balloon to signal the boat crew and designated rescue divers topside.

  Atakan shook his head no and mimed for her to help him move the rocks.

  She questioned his assessment. She’d prefer additional aid. The wood bore damaged planks didn’t worry her. She was confident they’d move those with ease. The heavier rocks concerned her. He thought them capable of handling the problem. She hesitated, and then gave in, trusting his judgment.

  Next to him now, she saw several thin, green strands from other small abrasions. Afraid of worse injuries, she fingered the balloon again. He read her mind and made a downward motion flat-palmed. She understood. He was telling her to stay calm.

  She tugged on her gloves, checked the time left, and hurriedly began moving the stones off. The larger ones, too heavy for her to lift, she pushed and pulled or rolled away. The awkward angle he was trapped at restricted Atakan’s ability to use all of his strength. When the rocks were within his reach and at the right position, he levered as many off as she did. Between the two of them, he was freed within their limited time.

  He staggered to his feet, tested the injury to his leg and gave the thumbs up sign. She hoped he was right. On land, he’d hop on the leg applying different amounts of weight. With the buoyancy factor in the water, she worried he couldn’t accurately evaluate the seriousness.

  She returned the signal and then knelt to see how bad the bigger cut was. The vertical slice was straight, about palm’s width long, but didn’t appear deep. A sharp rock had nicked the vein above the bone causing the spurt of blood she’d seen. It bled little now, which she took as a good sign. No stitches would be required, no reason to sideline him.

  They collaborated well underwater. They’d developed a shorthand system. They stayed in sight of one another so neither had to worry about the other going off to explore solo. If one of them wanted to split away and investigate something, it was by agreement. The partner stood close in case a problem occurred. After the long talk on the pier, their land relationship was better, less formal and routine. She didn’t want another partner.

  He checked his watch and held up three fingers. She found her hammer and chisel where she’d dropped them. He mimed his were missing and searched the sand between and under the rocks. His tools were MIA when they split for the first decompression stop. The lost tools didn’t worry her. What did worry her was how Refik would react to the accident.

  On deck, they warned the next team about the instability of the environment around the cliff and slide site. They stripped off their wet suits and went to find Refik to report the incident. They found him in the Suraya’s desalination area inspecting the lab trays of artifacts soaking in fresh water.

  “Have the doctor look at your ankle,” Refik told Atakan.

  “I’m fine. A minor cut.”

  “This is not a democracy. See the doctor.”

  Atakan raised his hands in surrender.

  “A couple of things before either of you go,” Refik said and turned to Charlotte.

  For a brief moment, she thought they’d been spared his harsh recriminations. That fantasy disintegrated in a flash. The grim set of his jaw and the severe look he gave both of them sent a clear message. We’re so screwed. More her than Atakan, whose prior relationship with Refik gave him some juice.

  “Why didn’t you signal for help? In a dangerous situation, there’s no excuse for not requesting more divers.”

  Refik directed the question to Charlotte.

  “My fault, not hers,” Atakan interjected. “She started to send the balloon, but I stopped her. I knew my predicament wasn’t as bad as it looked. I believed, and I was right, that the two of us could free me.”

  Refik shook his head as he listened, displeased with the explanation. When he didn’t say anything to Atakan in response, Charlotte feared he might send both of them packing.

  “Given the circumstances, neither of you made the right decision. You especially,” Refik pointed at him, “know better. We’ve known each other a long time, but if you disregard the basic safety rules again, I will contact Director Firat and replace you.”

  “Understood and I apologize,” Atakan said.

  “You,” he pointed to Charlotte, “I will send home and notify the university why you’re no longer part of this team.”

  “I’m sorry. I was wrong. I promise you, I won’t make the mistake again.”

  “Good, now moving on, this slide business concerns me,” Refik said. “We judged the main hold stable.” He studied the survey map on the wall as he considered the situation. “The slope under the stern hold is far worse. I fear a slide anywhere in the rear cargo area might trigger disastrous effects. Considering the hull’s decayed condition and if the stern breaks free with divers inside...”

  “We lose what’s inside,” Charlotte said. The lost opportunity to investigate the blocked section was a major concern.

  “That section was least exposed to crew or passengers. For good reason, I bet. I don’t think it’s out of line to speculate the area contains the most valuable cargo,” she stressed.

  Refik nodded. “I agree. However, what is the safest choice? For now, we concentrate on clearing the rocks from the area you worked today and continue the recovery operation. Those artifacts have tremendous value. We can’t say that for sure about the unexplored stern section.”

  “But...” Charlotte interrupted. She was prepared to take the chance and go into the area alone. Atakan and a backup team could stand by outside the hold if something went wrong. All she needed was to remove a few of the stacked Rhodian amphoras blocking the entry.

  Refik didn’t let her finish. “I must choose practicality over speculation when I weigh the risks. Nothing on this wreck is worth putting a member of the team in danger.”

  Logic dictated a king’s treasure was not in the main hold. The chance of finding a definitive piece there was almost non-existent.

  “I’m willing to take the risk. Let me--”

  Refik shot her the “this is not a democracy” look and she shut up. “I haven’t made a final decision yet. Do not aggravate me,” he warned. “You,” he said to Atakan. “See the doctor--now.”

  “I’m going.” Atakan started for the door.

  “I’ll go with you,” Charlotte said. She’d give Refik some breathing room before his mood got worse.

  They took the bow stairs to the deck below. Recessed equipment racks lined the narrow corridor. What was originally the ship’s galley MIAR staff converted, tearing out the kitchen appliances, sink and workstations. They utilized the space to house the tall, stainless steel container tanks for the diver’s air mix. The doctor’s closet-sized room was at the end of the passageway. Charlotte watched from the doorway as he swabbed disinfectant on Atakan’s cuts.

  “I’m done,” the doctor said. “You’re good to go.”

  “I knew I wasn’t hurt. I tried to tell Refik.”

  “That’s between you two. I don’t want to know about it.” He waved Atakan away.

  “You never thanked me,” Charlotte said as they returned topside.

  “Thank you for what?”

  “Saving your life.”

  “Nonsense. You didn’t save me.”

  “I did. Please, without my help getting the avalanche of rocks off your leg, you’d still be there flopping around like a wounded fish.” She affected a dark, ominous tone. “Maybe a moray eel seeing a vulnerable lump would venture from its crevice to torment you. All the while, your air supply growing low.”
r />   “Vulnerable lump? Me? Me?”

  “I’m speaking from the eel’s point of view.” It was hard to keep a serious look on her face and not crackup. She needed a laugh after the meeting with Refik.

  “You’re a crazy woman,” Atakan argued, chuckling at the scenario she painted. “I’d have gotten free without your help...and in plenty of time.”

  She shook her head. “No, you wouldn’t. You owe me a bottle of wine.”

  “I do not.”

  “Ingrate.”

  “Thank you.”

  “That wasn’t a compliment.”

  “Wrong again. It is a step-up from butt head, is it not?”

  Chapter Twenty

  The shuttle boat dropped her and Atakan off at camp. They had a free hour of downtime before their lab assignment and afternoon dive. Both headed for their personal quarters.

  She dug through the plastic ziplock bag she carried with her to the Suraya. Most of the divers brought baggies or child size backpacks with a small amount of necessities like lip balm, suntan lotion or sun block. She carried all three plus a travel-size hairbrush.

  Charlotte rubbed another layer of aloe on her cracked and sore lips as she entered the women’s dorm. Between the sun and the saltwater, she was burning through the tubes of balm.

  “Hi.” Ursula was applying makeup in front of a wall mirror above the dresser. She smiled and glanced over as Charlotte stretched out on her bed. “I’ve been dying to talk to you alone.”

  “Why?” Charlotte asked, suspicions aroused. Her misgivings about the sisters hadn’t subsided since they followed her group two nights earlier.

  “Fill me in on you and Atakan.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Is he good at sex?”

  “I don’t know. We’re colleagues, not lovers.”

  “Why not? He’s an attractive man, on the dull side, but I didn’t see that as bothering you.”

  Charlotte was doubly offended. First, by the fact Ursula thought she and Atakan were dullards. Second, by her assumption Charlotte was so indiscreet as to discuss her love life. Ursula’s impertinent question also implied the sisters blabbed to everyone they were lovers. Atakan would put an end to any gossip once it got back to him. It wouldn’t put an end to what people believed.