Byzantine Gold (14 page)

“Rana, if he touches you or says something you don’t like, you tell me right away. Understand?”

She nodded.

He finished the water and opened another. He drank most of the bottle before setting it down. Late the previous night, he paced the deck. The lights of Kusadasi sprinkled across the dark hills, pin-pricks of white that flickered like the stars in the night sky. In the quiet moments, he stopped to appreciate the view and made a decision. Rana might prove useful. He wasn’t sure how yet. But if he wanted something subtle done, a woman could come in handy. People aren’t as suspicious of a woman as they are a man—not even Atakan.

“When you go into work tonight, tell your boss you quit.”

“I cannot do that. My earnings must last me through the winter when the tourist season is over. Once you leave, with no job, I will have no money.”

“Don’t look so horrified. I’ve changed my mind. I want you to come with me to Cyprus,” Maksym said.

“Maksy.” Rana leaped on him. His lounger flipped onto its side. He landed on top of her, their arms and legs flailing the air. He chuckled. The people who knew him would laugh to see him in such a clumsy pose that didn’t include sex. And
Maksy...
even his late mother never called him that.

“When do we leave?”

“Tomorrow.”

“I love you,” she said, giggling against his chest.

“Don’t love me.” She opened her mouth to contradict him. He pressed a finger to her lips. “Don’t.”

“After Cyprus, we can go to another wonderful place, yes?”

She had such excitement and hope in her eyes, he couldn’t tell her no.

“Maybe.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Salamis Bay

“Omar, it’s Darav.”

“You tell me what I know. I see the number when you call. I am not stupid.”

“Sorry,” Darav said without conviction. “I made a useful connection with a woman here.”

“The Ministry man’s lover?”

“No, an American journalist. She writes articles on excavations like this. In our conversations, I’ve mentioned the problem of plundered sites and the black market.”

“You spoke of smuggling? This is a dangerous topic. Why make her suspicious of you?”

Darav picked at the French fries left on Saska’s plate. She’d ordered them and then only ate a couple before declaring them inedible. He’d hoped to talk to her longer, but a call from the States interrupted their meeting and she had to leave. They agreed to have drinks together again the next evening. The short time they talked was productive. Darav broached the subject subtly and she’d spoken freely.

Omar judged everyone by his own limited intelligence and imagination. A poor conversationalist, his blunt approach to everything worked against him. If you wanted information from a woman like Saska, you worked slowly, like a patient gardener gathering flowers. You don’t set a bull loose among the roses. 

“I played my role and showed the proper condemnation for such activity,” Darav said.

“What did you learn?”

“She mentioned a few well-known private collectors. When I return to camp, I will check their whereabouts and see if any suit our purpose.”

“I still believe your plan is crazy.”

How dare the ox call him crazy? Darav slammed his palm against the table. The owner of Ada’s and the waiter looked up and started to come over. He waved them off. “There’s more gold than I previously believed. What is pictured on the MIAR newsletter is a sample.”

“How do you know this?”

“Vadim, the Ministry man, indicated the ship might’ve belonged to pirates. For him to suggest this, I suspect he’s aware of much more gold.”

“He and the other agent continue to be armed?”

“Yes.” Darav had casually asked Saska if she knew why. She had no idea. It didn’t matter. Omar and the others would have no trouble dealing with two men with handguns alone. Disarm them and the rest is easy. “They are the only obstacle. The others are soft European and American scientists. They’ll offer no resistance.”

“When will you see the rest of this treasure?” Omar asked.

“The leader of the project announced he anticipates we’ll begin recovery of the gold by the end of next week. Once the buyer and boats are arranged, you’ll only have a short time to get here. Tell the others to be prepared to move fast.”

“They know. I took care of this already.”

“One more thing, I want you to assemble several bombs. On my day off I’ll take photos of the military base and send them to you. Bombs will delay any response from them to the camp.”

“You want one set off at the site afterward? Why leave any alive to identify us?”

“I’ll think about it.” For once, Omar had a good point.

Darav ended the call and left for camp.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“I think you should look over Nassor’s credentials again. I think he may have padded his resume,” Charlotte said.

Finished for the day, she and Atakan sat by themselves in the far corner of Ada’s restaurant. Atakan chose the table. A long row of thick Cyprus trees blocked a view of them from the rear. The kitchen blocked another view and the outside tables made them difficult to see from the water side. That left the entrance, which Atakan faced. His gun was holstered to his belt, hidden by the oversized shirt he wore.

“The Ministry checked his background before approving him. You suspect both our organizations missed something?”

“It’s possible. The guy’s weird. He’s like no archaeologist I’ve ever met.”

Charlotte understood the tediousness of finding only sand and saltwater after sifting through the contents of dozens of pots, occasionally wore down everyone’s enthusiasm. But the monotony never extinguished their dedication or their eagerness for what they might find.  

The waiter asked if they wanted their usual, a beer and a red wine. Atakan said yes and the young man left.

“Weird how?” Atakan asked.

“The normal curiosity an archaeologist has is missing. He didn’t give a damn about what the amphoras contain. When I brought the subject up, he showed no interest.”

“Odd, but I don’t see the connection between his lack of curiosity and lying on his application.”

“The only intellectual spark he’s shown is over the gold and whether the amphoras might hold other high value items.”

His casual expression shifted to one of concern.

The waiter returned and Atakan took the drinks from him. “Tell me what he said about the gold,” he asked after the waiter moved away.

“He hasn’t said anything grossly suspect. It’s more his attitude and questions. He has an extraordinary interest in when we’re excavating the gold and why we haven’t brought it up yet.”

Like a lit match to a gas jet, mentioning Nassor’s unhealthy interest in the most valuable cargo fired Atakan’s suspicious nature, as she knew it would. He had the typical Ministry mindset regarding artifacts and the potential for theft at a site. His influence generated a stronger instinct for the vulnerability of relics in her. Nassor’s comments taken in conjunction with his poor outlook about the wreck triggered her warning bells.

Atakan leaned back in the chair, quiet, and oblivious to the noisy racket from the other tables. He watched a young boy fight to maintain possession of a soccer ball. The boy spun around every time his younger brother reached to snatch it away. The parents ignored the battle, along with the cries of the smaller boy on the verge of a tantrum.

He watched but didn’t really see the boy. Charlotte was familiar with his thousand-yard stare. Atakan’s fixed gaze meant he was lost in thought, analyzing the situation.

“You’re
in the zone
, I can tell,” she muttered, “An enviable place right now.”

She didn’t share his capacity to tune things out. The younger child’s frustration morphed into a full-fledged, foot-stomping tantrum with accompanying wail. She pictured snatching the stupid ball and tossing it into the sea and telling the boys:
there, now no one has the ball, so sit down and shut the hell up.
Instead, she gulped a large swallow of wine. Finally, the father yanked the ball away and put it on an empty chair at the table.

“I want to interview his instructors personally. I’ll also speak with his former excavation teams again,” Atakan said at last. “The Ministry can pull his financial records for the past year. If he’s gotten deeply into debt, the theft and sale of artifacts is a great temptation.”

“I wonder if he’s working alone.”

“Hard to say, but he’s so flagrant with his obsession over gold, I don’t see the cunning you’d associate with a ring.”

“If theft is his goal, he’s dumb enough to try and sell anything he takes on eBay.”

Charlotte had visited Atakan’s unit at the Ministry. When not in the field they checked eBay daily. In their absence, other staff members checked. A number of arrests resulted.

“Speak of the devil,” she said, seeing Nassor and Saska pass by outside and sit at a table.

“The devil?” Atakan glanced over at the older boy who retrieved his soccer ball and began torturing his brother again. “You mean the child you want to nuzzle?”

“Muzzle. I want to muzzle him.”

“Nuzzle-muzzle, either way, he makes you bonkers. No need to look, I knew your eyes were spinning in your head when his screech turned ear-piercing.”

“Oh yeah.” She gave a silent thank you when the parents and brothers gathered their things and left.

Another couple sat at the table vacated by the family. They had a toddler in a stroller. The little girl had a mass of curly brown hair and fat sun-tinged cheeks. She waved a chubby fist at Charlotte.

“We’ve never talked of it, but do you want children?” Charlotte asked and waved to the child.

“No.”

“The Vadim name will die with you,” Charlotte said, surprised. Historically men of most cultures desired a boy to carry on their line.

“Not a tragedy.”

Charlotte turned the opposite direction and mumbled in her glass, “I bet your mother has a different opinion.”

“Her opinion is her own.”

“You have the hearing of a bat.”

Atakan smirked. “Sometimes. What about you? Do you want them?”

“Not especially but I’d consider it if it was important to you,” she said, uncertain that was true. Since he didn’t want children, she didn’t have to delve deeper into her feelings. “One thing for sure, if we ever decide to have children, they won’t be brats.”

“And they won’t be bastards either. We will marry. I’m not obsessed with having my family name go on, but I’m not opposed to it either,” he said, a little too brightly than Charlotte would’ve liked. She’d think about the implications of that later.

“Back to my devil comment,” she said, happy to leave the topic of children. “I was referring to Nassor and Saska.” She pointed to the table where they sat close together, laughing.

“Very cozy.”

“Think she’d pick up on anything suspicious he might say?” Charlotte asked.

“Maybe, men say a lot of stupid things during pillow talk.”

“They’re not sleeping together that I know of. Has he said something in the men’s dorm indicating they are?”

“No. I’m guessing they will.”

“You know Saska better than the rest of us.”

She didn’t mean the sarcastic comment as a catty, female dig. She thought Atakan’s guess a good one. Saska touched Nassor often as they talked, flirtatious, feminine and subtle gestures. Light touches to his hand or on his arm that made him smile. What Charlotte didn’t get, at all, was how Saska could go from an affair with Atakan to one with a fuzzy lump like Nassor.

Nassor flicked a glance her way before turning a hard look on Atakan who returned the look in kind. Nassor shot him a grin that sent a chill down Charlotte’s spine. The grin faded as Nassor broke the staring contest first and faced Saska again.

Wanting to forget Nassor and the creepy grin, Charlotte put her lips to Atakan’s ear and whispered. “What stupid pillow talk things have you said in the past?”

“Hah! I never made the mistake. And if I had, I’m not so foolish as to repeat them to you.”

“Hmm, there’s a statement I could drive a truck through.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“What a mess,” Charlotte said.

The intact amphoras mapped and tagged on the team’s earlier dives raised hopes for the rest of the cargo’s condition. Those pots and jars were a small part of the cargo. Additional hull removal and deeper access and exploration of the hold revealed the opposite. The top layer of the stacked amphoras lay in a heap, chunks broken from their globular bodies, the rims chipped, the stoppers destroyed. Hundreds of pottery shards were strewn across the grid. The field resembled an earthenware mosaic by Picasso on a bad day.

“I see what my assignment in the next few off-seasons will be. There’s years and year’s worth of matching and reassembling to do,” Talat said, sounding weary already.

A sympathetic groan traveled through the AGA masks he, Rachel, Charlotte, and Nassor wore. Come September, they’d return home. Talat was a permanent employee of MIAR. When not on a wreck site, he worked in the main conservation lab in Bodrum.

“We’ll take the right half of the grid,” Charlotte said.

She and Nassor labeled their bags with the same designation of the amphoras in that section. They’d gather the shards first. After the pieces were cleared, they’d airlift baskets with the pottery to the Suraya. Removal of the fragments involved several days work and delayed examination of any contents the amphoras that might remain.

Charlotte tested the sand mounds on the perimeter of her area for a spot to hold her weight without shifting. If the sand gave and she lost her balance, she might land in the pile further damaging the amphoras. Getting cut was a secondary concern.

She found a suitable spot and knelt. She collected and bagged the largest shards together. The smaller ones, some no bigger than a jigsaw puzzle piece she placed in a different bag. As she cleared, a space wide enough to allow a peek into the secondary layer opened.

Hull evidence showed the ship’s galley was located above where Charlotte and Nassor knelt. Pots and assorted cooking utensils lay on the seabed in a nearby grid. Over the centuries, currents could’ve carried them the few meters. Or, they were hurled or rolled the other direction when the ship broke apart. The team hadn’t determined what caused her to sink.

“Nassor, come and look at this.”

He kicked over and peered down. “We know about the bottom row. What am I supposed to see?”

“This top row is in shambles and scattered from the deck collapsing on it. The other layer is also spread out in a similar fashion, although the amphoras are less damaged.”

“They look stacked without care, thrown into the hold as though loaded in a hurry.”

“Exactly. Stevedores use a uniform system, even then.” She waited for a comment from him. A reiteration of the system used commonly at the time or some observation of the condition of the pots beside hers.

Nassor kept quiet.

She considered making an inaccurate comment to see if he’d correct her. Instead, she said what they both knew or should know. “They’d line them in rows and loop ropes through the handles to minimize movement.”

He nodded but not one of agreement that people give each other when discussing the obvious. His was a funny tip of his chin like people give when hearing new information.

“No weapons visible, this hold is for supplies only,” she said. “I can’t see the ship’s captain or the cook allowing their supplies stored in this kind of jumble. It’s a waste of valuable space.”

“I’d say it’s the work of pirates. Pirates more interested in treasure than commodities stored in them. Supplies are easy to replenish. They plunder another ship or raid a port,” Nassor said.

“You like Atakan’s theory too.”

“Very much.”

The thought occurred to her too. She deliberately didn’t express the possibility to Nassor. With his unhealthy interest in valuable relics, she wondered if he’d make the suggestion.