Reilly had also used the layover to pick up some more appropriate clothing. A small backpack in his hand now held his discarded work clothes and the paperwork Ertugrul gave him to use in lieu of a passport. It also carried an Iridium satellite phone he'd given him that, via the Department of Defense's dedicated EMSS gateway in Hawaii, would keep Reilly connected to the outside world from virtually anywhere on the planet.
Also in there was his Browning Hi-Power handgun, for which Ertugrul had graciously provided extra clips and cartridges.
Tess had also used the opportunity to call her aunt's house and speak to Kim and to Eileen. The call was a hard one to make. She missed Kim and felt it even more when she heard her voice on the phone, although knowing what a great time her daughter was having provided some solace. Telling her mother what she was up to, on the other hand, was a much harder exercise. Tess worked hard at reassuring her, resorting in desperation to telling her about Reilly being there with her—which only served to worry her mother even more. Why was an FBI agent accompanying her if it wasn't dangerous, she'd asked? Tess had fumbled some explanation about her being there purely as an outside expert, then used an overhead boarding announcement as an excuse to cut the conversation short. After she'd hung up, she'd felt bad about the call. But she knew there was nothing she could have told her mother, short of not telling her she was away at all, that wouldn't have alarmed her.
What Tess barely noted was die sallow-faced man who had accidentally bumped into her as she was making her way through the crowded terminal to die ladies' room in the minutes following that tough call. He'd knocked the carry-on she'd been trailing behind her right out of her hand, but had courteously retrieved it for her and made sure she was all right before moving on.
She did notice he reeked of stale cigarettes, but then from what she remembered, most of the men here smoked. What she didn't notice was the tiny black strip, roughly the size of a coin, that he had managed to stick by the small wheel well on the bottom of the bag.
With the bag now trailing safely behind her, Tess walked with Reilly as they made their way through the stifling and chaotic terminal to the car rental desk. Ertugrul had brought some hastily procured supplies, which included a crate of bottled water, two sleeping bags, and a nylon tent. A short while later, they were settled into a slightly tattered four-wheel-drive Mitsubishi Pajero on the centuries-old trail of a handful of shipwrecked warrior knights.
***
Reilly drove while Tess took on the role of navigator. She was using an assortment of maps and notes to try and retrace the route Al-Idrissi mentioned in his journals while reconciling it with elements gleaned from Aimard's letter.
As the shore dropped away behind them, the densely packed houses and low-rise apartment buildings quickly gave way to a calmer landscape. Huge swathes of the Lycian coastline had been protected as conservation areas before the airport at Dalaman was built, sparing the area from the blight of mass-market resorts. Tess and Reilly quickly found themselves driving through a more pastoral setting of older properties, fronted by rough stone walls and rusty wrought-iron fences and shaded by pine trees. On both sides of the road, the land appeared rich and fertile, dense with shrubs, and dotted with clusters of trees. On the higher ground to their right, the cover thickened.
It took less than an hour to reach Koycegiz, a small town resting on the edge of a large, mystical lake that once formed a natural harbor. Carian cliff tombs, intricately carved into the rocky hills bordering the lake and strikingly well preserved, loomed down on them somberly, a reminder of one of the many civilizations that had settled in this region.
About two miles beyond the town, Tess directed Reilly to turn off the main road. The asphalt was cracked and potholed; the journey from here
on would be rougher, but for the time being the Pajero's rugged suspension was taking it in stride.
They drove past olive and lemon groves, past cornfields and tomato plantations on roads lined by frankincense trees, the vibrant colors and smells helping to awaken their dulled, jet-lagged senses.
Then they were climbing again, into densely forested hills dotted with the occasional sleepy village.
All around them were the poor, primitive, and picturesque reminders of a way of life that was over a thousand years old, a living history long since gone from the more prosperous West. Serendipitous sights emerged to greet them as they pressed on: a girl spinning wool with a weight as she herded her sheep; a laden wood-gatherer dwarfed by his tall and unwieldy load; a brace of oxen pulling a tree-trunk plow under the setting sun.
From time to time, Tess would get very excited as she found extracts from Al-Idrissi's journal that matched their progress. Mostly, though, her thoughts were not so much about that traveler's journey, but were instead drawn to the surviving knights who had trudged desperately across these lands all those years ago.
By now, the light had faded and the SUV's headlights were helping guide the way. The road had degenerated into a narrow, rock-strewn path.
"I think we should call it a day," Reilly said.
Tess consulted her map. "It can't be far. I'd say we're about twenty, thirty miles away."
"Maybe, but it's getting dark, and I wouldn't want to hit a rock or something and risk breaking an axle out here."
She was eager to reach their destination but, as he maneuvered the Pajero onto a fairly level patch of ground, she had to concede that he was right. Even a flat tire would be bad news.
They both climbed out and looked around. The last, faint traces of the setting sun glowed from behind wisps of pink-gray clouds in an otherwise clear sky. Overhead, the waxing crescent of the moon seemed unnaturally close. The mountains around them were still and deserted, enshrouded by a disconcerting quiet he wasn't used to. "Any towns nearby we can stay in?"
She checked her map again. "Nothing close. Last one was about seven miles back."
Reilly made a quick visual check of the area's vulnerabilities and decided it was as good as any for an overnight stop. He headed for the SUV's rear door. "Let's see what our man in Istanbul's got for us."
****
While Reilly was busy putting in the last of the aluminum struts and setting up the tent, Tess had managed to get a small fire going. They were soon working their way hungrily through the case of supplies Ertugrul had provided, washing down slices of basterma sausages and kasseri cheese boreks with botded mineral water.
Reilly watched Tess's eyes beam with delight as she opened a small carton and pulled out a piece of lokma, wolfing it down, her fingers dripping with syrup.
"This local guy of yours is a godsend," she managed before popping another piece into her mouth.
"Try these, they're delicious. I couldn't get enough of them the last time I was here. It didn't help that I was pregnant at the time."
"So what brought Vance out here?" he asked as he sampled a piece.
"My dad was working on a dig not too far from the Ararat Anomaly. Vance was desperate to have a look, and my dad invited him in." Tess explained how in 1959, a U-2 spy plane on its way back from a reconnaissance flight over the then Soviet Union flew over Turkey and took some images that intrigued the CIA's photo analysts for years. Word eventually leaked out and, in the late nineties, the pictures were finally released, causing a small sensation. Way up in the Armenian mountains, not far below the summit, was something that looked like a ship. Close-ups revealed what appeared to be three large curved wooden beams, resembling part of the hull of a large vessel.
"Noah's Ark," Reilly said as he flashed back to vague headlines in the press.
"A lot of people were fascinated by it, my dad included. Trouble was, even when the Cold War began to thaw, the area was still very sensitive. The mountain's only twelve miles from the Russian border, less than twenty to Iran. A few people were granted permission and tried to climb up to see what it really was. James Irwin was one. The astronaut. Walked on the moon, and later became a serious convert to Christianity. He tried to climb
up for a closer look at the anomaly." She paused.
"On his second attempt, he fell and died."
Reilly frowned. "So what do you think? Is it really Noah's Ark?"
"The consensus says it isn't. Just a curious rock formation."
"But what do you think?"
"I don't know. No one's actually reached it or touched it. What we do know is a story of a flood and a man with a boat and with a whole bunch of animals, it's in writings going all the way back to Mesopotamia, writings that predate the Bible by thousands of years. Which makes me think that maybe something like that really did happen. Not that the whole world was flooded. Just a big area somewhere in this part of the world. And one man survived it and his tale passed into legend."
Something in the way she said it seemed so definite, so final. Not that he necessarily believed in Noah's Ark, but . . . "It's fanny," he said.
"What?"
"I would have thought archaeologists, of all people, would be drawn to the mysteries of the past with more of an open mind than others, with a sense of wonder about what could have happened at a time that's so distant and removed from what we have today . . . and yet your approach is so rational and analytical. Doesn't it take away from the, I don't know, the magic of it?"
She didn't seem to see anything paradoxical about it. "I'm a scientist, Sean. I'm like you, I deal in hard facts. When I go out and dig, I look for evidence about how people lived and died and fought wars and built cities . . . myths and legends I leave to others."
"So if it can't be scientifically explained . . . ?"
"Then it probably didn't happen." She set down the box of lokmas and wiped her face with a napkin before stretching back lazily and rolling over to face him. "I need to ask you something."
"Shoot."
"Back at JFK."
"Yeah ..."
"How come you didn't pull me off that plane? You could have arrested me, right? Why didn't you?"
From the vaguest hint of a smile and the glint in her eyes, he knew what she was getting at. She was taking the lead, which was just as well given his grating hesitation to move in that direction himself.
He ducked it, for now, with a noncommittal "I don't know," before adding, "I knew you'd be a real pain in the ass and probably scream the house down if I took you in."
She edged closer. "Damn right I would."
He felt a slight quickening in his chest and shifted his position, sliding down and leaning in more to face her. "Plus ... I figured, what the hell. Let's see if she's as smart as she thinks she is."
She leaned closer still. Her face was now hovering inches away from his, her eyes moving over his face. The curling smile widened. "How magnanimous of you."
The sky, the forest, the campfire ... it was perfect. He could feel the warmth of her lips radiating out, beckoning his, and for a brief moment, he felt everything else fall away. The rest of the world simply ceased to exist.
"What can I tell you, I'm a magnanimous kind of guy. Especially when someone's out on their own .
. . pilgrimage."
She held the minute gap separating their lips. "So given that you're here protecting me," she whispered, "I guess that kind of makes you my own personal Knight Templar?"
"Something like that."
"You know," she mused, eyeing him playfully, "according to the official Templars' manual, you're supposed to stand guard all night while the pilgrims sleep."
"You sure about that?"
"Chapter six, subsection four. Check it out."
The feeling was unreal.
"You think you can handle that?" she asked.
"No sweat. It's what we Templars do."
She smiled. And with that, he leaned in and kissed her.
He moved in closer and the kiss turned more urgent. They melted into each other, lost in the moment, their minds free from thought, consumed by a sublime rush of feel, smell, and taste—and then something intruded, a familiar undertow nagging at him, pulling his mind to a darker place, to the face of his devastated mother and to a man in an armchair, his arms hanging lifelessly to his side, a gun lying innocently on the carpet, the wall behind him splattered with blood.
He pulled back.
"What?" Tess said dreamily.
He frowned inwardly as he sat up. His eyes had taken on a haunting, distant glaze. "This . . . this isn't a good idea."
She raised herself and snaked a hand through his hair, pulling his mouth closer to her. "Oh, I beg to differ. I think it's a great idea." She kissed him again, but just as their lips touched, he drew back again.
"Seriously."
Tess pulled herself up on her elbow, momentarily dumbfounded. He was just looking at her, dejected.
"Oh my God. You are serious." She looked at him askance and flashed him a cheeky grin. "This isn't some Lent celibacy thing, is it?"
"Hardly."
"Okay, so what then? You're not married. I'm pretty sure you're not gay, although ..." She made a
"maybe" gesture. "And last time I checked, I thought I looked pretty damn good. So what is it?"
He was struggling to put it into words. It wasn't the first time these feelings had sneaked up on him, but it had been a while. He hadn't felt this way about someone for a long time. "It's hard to explain."
"Try."
It wasn't easy. "I know we hardly know each other, and maybe I'm jumping the gun here, but I really like you, and . . . there are things about me I think you need to know, even if. . ." He didn't continue, but the implication was clear. Even if I end up losing you because of it. "It's about my dad."
Which completely threw her.
"What does this have to do with us? You said you were young when he died, that it hit you hard."
She saw Reilly wince. From the first time he mentioned it back at her house that evening, she knew she was trespassing on difficult ground, but she needed to know. "What happened?"
"He shot himself. For no reason."
Deep down, Tess felt a knot unwind. Her imagination had taken her to some even darker places.
"What do you mean, for no reason? There had to be a reason."
Reilly shook his head, and his face clouded. "That's the thing. There just wasn't. I mean, none that made sense. He was never outwardly gloomy or moody. We eventually found out he was sick, he was suffering from depression, but there wasn't any reason for it. He had a good job, he liked his work, we were comfortable, he had a loving wife. By all outward indications, he had a great life. It didn't stop him from blowing his brains out."
Tess leaned into him. "It's an illness, Sean. A medical condition, a chemical imbalance, whatever you want to call it. You said it yourself, he was sick."
"I know. The thing is, it's also genetic. There's a one in four chance that I'll get it."
"And a three in four chance that you won't." She smiled supportively. He didn't seem convinced.
"Was he getting treated for it?"
"No. This was before Prozac became the new aspirin."
She paused, mulling it over. "Have you had yourself checked?"
"We have routine psych evaluations at work."
"And . . . ?"
"They haven't found anything wrong."
She nodded. "Good. I don't see it either."
"See it?"
Her voice softened. "In your eyes. I could see something, a bit of distance, like you're walled off, always holding something back. At first I thought it might be your M.O., you know, the badge talking, the strong, silent type." She was beaming with conviction and reassurance. "It doesn't have to happen to you."
"What if it does? I've been through it, I saw what it did to my mom. I wouldn't want to put you, or anyone I care about, through it."
"So you're going to shut yourself off from the rest of the world? Come on, Sean. It's like telling me we shouldn't be together just because, I don't know, your dad died of cancer. Who really knows what's going to happen to any of us? You just live your life and hope for the best."
; "Not everybody wakes up one morning and decides to ride a bullet out of this world. The thing is, I recognize a part of him in me. He wasn't that much older than I am now when he did it. I look in the mirror sometimes and I see him, I see his look and his stance, and it scares me."
She shook her head with obvious frustration. "You said your priest helped you through it?"
He nodded absently. "My dad wasn't into religion. He questioned faith out of existence, and my mom, well, she kind of toed the line, she wasn't particularly spiritual anyway. After he died, I just shut down completely. I couldn't understand why he did it, why we didn't see it coming, why we didn't stop it from happening. My mom was a total wreck. She ended up spending more and more time with our priest who, in turn, started talking to me about it. He helped me understand why neither of us was to blame and showed me another side of life. The Church became my sanctuary, and I never forgot it."
The Last Templar ts-1 Page 24
