The Secret of Ka (3 page)

My father was a long time returning, and when he did, he said Bill was in a bad mood and wouldn't let anyone in to see the ruins.

"Maybe next week, Sara," my father said as he climbed in the Jeep.

"I don't know if that's a bad thing," Mr. Toval said. "I'm afraid your daughter's showing signs of heat stroke."

My dad was worried. "Are you sick?"

I forced a smile. "I'm fine." I looked around for Mrs. Steward to thank her for the water, but to my surprise she had already left. I told my dad, "I can always see the ruins another day."

We drove back to the entrance and my father called for a taxi. He told me he had to get back to work, that he was sorry he could not stay with me until the taxi arrived.

"It's okay," I said. "I'm just glad we got to hang out together."

"Will you be awake when I get back to the hotel?"

"Sure." I gave him a quick hug. "I'll be waiting for you."

My father left me at the security building, a boxlike structure with no air-conditioning. A half-hour passed and still there was no taxi. I tried calling for one. Unfortunately, everyone who answered spoke Turkish.

I thought of asking a guard for help, but decided to call Amesh instead. He answered right away, and when I explained the situation, he acted angry.

"Your father should have stayed with you until the taxi came."

"I did drop by unannounced. He has work to do. Can you call me another taxi?"

"Yeah. But it might cost seventy lira to get back to the hotel. The taxi has to drive all the way out here to get you."

"I figured as much," I said.

"I'll go to the gate and make sure you get off okay."

"You don't have to do that, Amesh."

"Sara, I don't have to do anything."

It was then I realized he might want to see me again!

He arrived a few minutes later, and this time he was not ashamed to be seen with me. I understood. He could not be seen returning from Istanbul with a girl while he was on the clock. But now our roles had changed. I was simply a visitor who needed help.

His cell suddenly rang. I assumed it was the taxi company calling back to say they couldn't pick me up after all, but as I watched, his face darkened. I knew the news must be bad. He hung up and jumped on his moped.

"What's wrong? What happened?" I asked.

"It's my friend, Spielo. There's been an accident. He fell into the concrete pour."

"Is that bad? Can't they get him out and wash him off?"

Amesh was pale. "You don't understand. They pour the concrete all the time, no stopping, into shafts hundreds of feet deep."

I grimaced. "He hasn't fallen into one of those, has he?"

He was already leaving. "I have to go see. Wait here until I come back."

"I can't just stand here. I want to help."

Amesh shook his head. "There's nothing you can do."

He rode off, leaving a trail that was easy to follow. I hesitated perhaps five seconds before I decided to go after him. I figured I would not get far, that the guards would stop me.

Yet no one bothered me. Several Jeeps sped by in the direction of the main pit where I had to assume Spielo had had his accident. But the men in the vehicles hardly looked at me.

I had walked for twenty minutes and was about to pass out from the heat when I reached the edge of the hole that was to house the bulk of the power plant. To say it was massive would be an understatement. It looked like a crater that had been formed by a meteor crash. Standing on the edge of it, looking down, I could see the different layers of earth. The deeper it got, the darker red the sand became.

Suddenly a Turkish woman in a veil was standing beside me.

"Impressive, yes?" she asked in a thick accent.

"Yes. But I'm worried. I heard that someone fell into the concrete."

The woman pointed a finger that was studded with jewelry.

"Down there, it looks like a party. He must be okay."

Deep in the eye of the crater, I saw a line of revolving concrete trucks and a cluster of happy men. I assumed they were happy—they were dancing and carrying a young man through the air. That had to be Spielo. I'd missed his rescue by minutes. What relief I felt, for his sake and Amesh's.

"You're right," I told the woman. "He must be fine."

"You seem surprised," she said.

"It's just that a friend of mine acted like no one could survive that kind of accident."

The woman turned and stared at me through her veil. It was black; her face was dark. I could not tell her age.

"True. The boy is lucky to be alive." Then she suddenly handed me a water bottle. "You look tired, thirsty. Come, sit over here and rest."

The woman led me to a spot a hundred yards to the right, deeper in the pit, where there was a row of boulders. I sat and assumed she would join me, but she excused herself.

"I cannot stay," she said, and quickly walked away.

Sitting inside the crater, I marveled at how much richer the red-colored sand was here than on the rest of the job site.

It was then my hand brushed a piece of material sticking out from beneath the ground. It was as red as everything else, but it was definitely cloth. The more I pulled on it, the more came out. Finally I yanked it free—a thick sheet, about seven feet long and four feet wide. It was so completely coated with hard red dirt, I was surprised I recognized it at all.

Yet the instant I held it in my hands, my fingers trembled.

I knew it was a carpet. A very old carpet.

T
HE HIKE TO THE CRATER
, and the effort I had spent digging up the carpet, had exhausted me. I did not want to interrupt Amesh during what was surely a joyful time, but I needed a ride back to the entrance. Particularly if I was going to carry the carpet. With all the dirt on it, the thing weighed at least forty pounds.

I took out my cell and dialed his number.

He sounded happy to hear from me. He sounded happy, period! Spielo was alive! Yet whatever joy he felt over his friend's rescue vanished when he finally caught up with me and saw what I was carrying.

"You're crazy! You can't take that with you!" He and his moped were covered with red dust from the celebration in the bottom of the pit. Again, I was struck by how well muscled his legs were.

"Why not?" I asked innocently.

"It's dirty! No taxi's going to give you a ride with that thing."

"We'll wash it off. It'll dry quickly in this heat."

"Why bother? It's just a piece of old cloth."

"Amesh, get a clue! It's a carpet! It might be a really old carpet."

He gave it a closer look, but was not impressed. "If it is a relic, then there's no way you can take it. The guards at the gate will stop you."

"I already thought of that. I have a plan."

"No plan. No way either of us is going to jail."

"Would you at least listen to what I have to say?"

He wiped the sweat from his brow. "Say it."

"Help me wash it off and I'll tell you," I said.

Only a handful of men were heading back toward the entrance. Most were probably still in the pit. Amesh was able to stow the muddy carpet on the back of his moped—he had a fair-size basket—but there was no room for me. I had to hurry to keep up. No one gave us a second look.

Not far from the gate, he veered behind an office building that stood beneath an elevated water tank. The tank's hose was as thick as a fireman's. Indeed, it was probably there in case of a fire. The nearby office building had no windows. We appeared to be alone.

Amesh tried shaking the dirt off the carpet, but it was too much a part of the material. He ended up laying the carpet on the ground and turning the nozzle on full strength. I had to stand on one end of the carpet to keep it from washing away. We worked on a strip of asphalt that could have fried eggs, it was so hot. The cool water felt fantastic on my bare legs.

"Turn it over, Amesh!" I shouted. The "old cloth" was magically taking on color, and I was not the only one who was seeing it in a new light. Excitement began to show on Amesh's face. "Let's lower the water," I said. "I don't want to damage it."

"We need the water on hard to wash it clean," he said, ignoring me. There were no two ways about it—Arab boys didn't like American girls telling them what to do. I knew we weren't going to get the carpet out of the complex without a fight.

When he was done hosing it off, I laid it on a dry piece of asphalt. The instant the scalding heat and damp material touched, a wave of steam rose.

One side of the carpet was almost supernaturally black. The material was so dark it seemed to absorb light. The other side was navy blue, decorated with an assortment of stars, planets, and dozens of tiny figures—some human, others mythological.

"I want to take it back to the hotel," I said.

"If you're right and this is a relic, then it belongs to the government. We have to report it. Otherwise, it will be stealing."

I called his bluff. "Fine, call your boss. Hand it in."

He blinked. "What? I thought you said you had a plan."

"That was before you accused me of being a thief."

"I didn't accuse you of anything."

I snorted. "You just said I was trying to steal it."

"Tell me what your plan is."

"Not unless you apologize."

"For what?"

"For the mean thing you just said."

He simmered. "I'm sorry. Now what's your stupid plan?"

"Never mind. You're right; it is stupid. The carpet belongs to your government."

"The smart thing to do is hand it in," he said.

"Whatever. I'm too hot to argue. Go ahead and call your boss."

He took out his cell. "All right."

"But be very careful which boss you call," I added.

He stopped. "What do you mean?"

"If this is a relic, then it's worth a fortune. Whoever you give it to—they'll probably keep it for themselves, at least until they can sell it on your black market."

"What do you know about our black market?" he demanded.

"I know it exists and that many relics are sold there."

Amesh shook his head. "This is Turkey. We don't have the corruption you have in America."

"I was just going by how your taxi drivers behave."

"Huh?"

"You had to fight with the last one so he wouldn't rip us off. "

"If you think all Turks are liars and thieves, then you don't know us."

"You're right, what do I know?" I muttered.

"We're a Muslim nation. People have high morals here."

"Call Mr. Toval. He's your boss, right? Tell him about the carpet."

"That's true, but..." Amesh considered. "Maybe we should call your father."

"Why?" I did not want to call my dad. He would never let me study it. He would hand it in immediately.

"He's well respected. He'll know what to do," Amesh said.

I shrugged. "You can do that if you want, but I have to warn you, my father's an engineer. He doesn't like to get involved in administrative affairs. He'll probably give the carpet to Mrs. Steward, and she's not even a Muslim."

Amesh looked as if I had just punched him in the gut.

"I don't want some rich American stealing it," he swore.

I was sympathetic. "The carpet would probably make her super-rich."

Amesh stopped and studied me. "Do you really think it's worth a lot of money?"

"If it's been buried beneath this desert for thousands of years—then yes, it's worth a fortune. Look at it; it's in perfect shape."

Amesh looked puzzled. "How can it be so old and look so new?"

"The dry sand mummified it. That doesn't just happen to dead bodies. If it was buried deep enough to escape the rain, then I'm not surprised it kept its original colors."

"But you dug it up near the surface."

"I dug it up after tons of heavy machinery brought it to the surface. Amesh, for all we know, it was buried near the bottom of the pit."

"I see what you're saying." He frowned, worried. "But if we try to smuggle it out of here—that would be like stealing."

It would not be
like
stealing; it would
be
stealing, but I didn't bother to point that out to him. "I don't plan to keep it," I said, not sure if I was being 100 percent honest. "I just want to check it out, you know, back at the hotel."

"Why?"

I reached down and touched it. It was incredible. Already, in the short time we had talked, it had begun to dry. "There's something strange about it. It feels almost magnetic."

Amesh reached down and touched it. "I don't feel anything."

"That's because you're tired and you've been working all day."

He wiped his sweat away. "Okay, what's your plan?"

"I'll call another taxi and leave the site. I'll wait for you on the other side of that sand dune we saw when we drove up."

"So you want me to sneak it past the guards?"

"Yes."

"They're not going to let me take a carpet out of here."

"No. But they will let you take a nicely wrapped FedEx package out of here."

"Is that your secret plan?"

"Yes. And it's a good one."

"That's what you think. I don't know if we have a FedEx box that can hold something this big."

"It doesn't have to be an official FedEx box. Just put lots of FedEx stickers on it. Heck, you're their number one gofer. You're always running around with packages. Do you forget how we met?"

"I usually deliver smaller packages."

"Like the guards care. They see you every day. They'll take one look at you and wave you through. Also, remember, you're leaving the job site, not trying to enter. Security is tighter on the way in than on the way out."

"Who told you that?"

"No one! It just makes sense."

Amesh considered. "We can ride back to your hotel together?"

"As long as you can get out of work."

"I can make up some excuse." The logic of my plan was slowly changing his mind, but Amesh continued to stress. He began to pace back and forth. He was starting to make me nervous. "If I get caught, it'll be my life on the line, not yours," he said.

"I doubt they'll take you out and shoot you."