Byzantine Gold (19 page)

“It suits her. Clearly, she’s enamored of shiny, glittery baubles.”

Next Charlotte removed a hinged cuff bracelet. The gold band was three inches wide and inset with cabochons of garnets the size of almonds and plump pearls. Nassor pressed against her, looking over her shoulder as she examined the piece.

“So much gold,” he said, pressing closer—too close for her liking.

“It’s quite a find. Whoever this was made for had to be a very wealthy or influential person.”

“How much is it worth now?”

Charlotte shrugged and eased to the left, putting some space between her and Nassor. She didn’t concern herself with dollar value but historical value. “I don’t know. This is just a guess, but I imagine a major auction house like Christie’s or Sotheby’s could ask and probably get forty or fifty thousand dollars for it.”

“Is the necklace worth the same?”

“It’s worth a goodly sum but I doubt as much as this. The bracelet has a lot more gold.”

She snapped pictures from different angles and then handed the piece to Nassor. He held it in his palm as though testing the weight. The up-down motion danced in her peripheral vision.

“Stop playing around. Tag and box,” she said, checking the time. “We only have a few minutes left.”

She plucked a few more shell bits out of the chest and discovered a pair of earrings. Small, gold loops wedged in the corner of the chest where the back and side dovetailed. She almost missed them. She carefully extracted them afraid the fragile wires they were made of would break. After she eased them out, she examined the pair in the stationary light.

They were of simple construction. For pierced ears, one end made to go through the lobe and loop around and into a curved wire on the other end. The remarkable workmanship intrigued her. The bottom was a ram’s head. What was remarkable though, was the entire earring was one continuous length of gold. The ram’s head wasn’t a separate figure attached to two lengths of wire. The gold threads that extended out were part of the same nugget the jeweler carved the ram from.

“Extraordinary,” she said and laid one of her diver’s gloves on the sand. She wanted the black glove as background contrast to enhance the delicate earrings for the photos.

When she finished, Nassor laid the tag identifier on the glove above them and she took photos of the two items. He gathered the tag and the earrings and set them into the box going to the ship.

Charlotte closed the lid on the chest to prevent Sparkle from carting off any jewelry or other small relics inside.

As they swam away toward the first decompression station, Nassor tugged on her arm. “This fish, I like him.” He indicated a red and white striped Devil Firefish lying on the sea floor, the elongated spines on its fins undulating back and forth. “What is he called?”

“I don’t know the scientific name. Everyone I know calls them by the common name, Devil Fish. It’s a close relative of the Lionfish.”

Odd question, Charlotte thought. This couldn’t be the first one he saw. They were plentiful in the Red Sea around Egypt and had migrated to the Mediterranean Sea via the Suez Canal.

“Did you ever dive the Red Sea?” she asked. If he answered yes, then she’d tell Atakan about his lack of knowledge—knowledge he should have. If he answered no, then she’d blow off the question.

“Yes, why do you ask?”

She scrambled for a credible lie. “He’s such an elegant fish and I’ve always heard the Red Sea has many pretty fish.” Whether that was true, she had no idea. She hoped so.

Nassor’s relief showed through his mask. “Yes, there are many handsome creatures in the Red Sea,” he said with a twitchy, poor excuse for a smile. Not that he ever appeared really happy or jovial.

The smile might’ve been true, but not the part about him diving in the Red Sea.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Alone in the woman’s quarters, Charlotte reread Nuray’s email.
Love my son enough to leave him
. Charlotte set her laptop to the side and lay back on her bed. She stared at the ceiling and tried to analyze the situation with a scientific eye, rather than see it through an emotional lens. Was she a bringer of bad luck? How could she be? Luck was superstitious nonsense. She never met anyone whose life was changed by finding a four-leaf clover or wishing on a falling star.

“Point in favor of staying,” she whispered.

Tischenko’s hatred for Atakan went back years before she and Atakan met. “Point two.” The mental debate was going better than she expected. She liked the scoring so far.

But he never acted on it until you were in the picture
. The part of her that was Nuray’s advocate reminded her.

Coincidence perhaps?
“There’s no such thing as coincidence. Point two withdrawn.” With the sudden shift in scoring, her small moment of cheer faded.

Nuray’s advocate continued.
Tischenko didn’t stop his quest when he escaped from Atakan in Sevastopol. He pursued you both to Paris, then Istanbul, and now here. He wants you to witness Atakan’s death. You are the magnet drawing him to fulfill this end.

She had no argument to the observation. “Point Nuray.”

There was no guarantee Tischenko would stop if she left. He’d come this far, why stop? “Point me.”

Tischenko shouldn’t have missed the shot in Paris. If luck
exists—and she couldn’t say for certain it doesn’t, then it was
sheer luck that spared Atakan. In all likelihood, Tischenko
didn’t take a shot in Istanbul the night he sent the flowers
because he wants to make a grand spectacle of Atakan’s death. A spectacle for her eyes
.
Therefore, her presence was at the core
of his revenge
.
“Point Nuray.”

How could she leave Atakan to face Tischenko alone? If the worst happens, and Tischenko succeeds, Atakan would die alone.
She’d not have the chance to hold him and tell him how much she loved him. “There’s no point awarded for comforting him in death.”

And if Nuray was right, and she was a Jonah, a bringer of bad luck, then she might cause him to lose in a confrontation. He’d be killed in a confrontation he might’ve won.

Charlotte sat up and made a list of the museums she’d like to work for. The Field Museum in Chicago was her first choice. At least, she’d be with her family and friends.

She typed out her curriculum vitae and addressed it to the Human Resources Department at the Field Museum. She wrote fast before she changed her mind. Finished, she moved the cursor to the
send
tab where it hovered. She couldn’t do it—couldn’t click on the tab.

Outside, voices from the other divers drifted into the women’s quarters. Rachel and Talat had eaten lunch together and now stood at the dorm’s doorway, chatting.

Charlotte moved the cursor to the
drafts file
and sent the C.V. there. Closing the laptop, she put it away in the case. She covered her swimsuit with a pair of khaki shorts and tee shirt, grabbed her purse, and the case.

“Hi,” Rachel and Talat greeted her as she squeezed past.

“Hi.”

“Where are you going?” Rachel asked.

“Ada’s. I’m done for the day and thought I’d relax over a drink.”

“I’d love to join you, but we have another dive this afternoon,” Rachel said.

“Maybe later. Atakan, Iskender, and I usually go there in the evening.” Charlotte smiled and headed for the resort.

  #

She didn’t take the usual path. Instead, she strolled along the beach, careful to avoid the protected sea turtle nests. Over the next few weeks, the loggerhead and green turtle hatchlings would be making their way to the water. Cyprus was one of the best places in the world for turtle watching.

She walked slowly, taking her time and stopping occasionally to appreciate the view as the tourists see it. The recovery process and conservation work occupied most of her day. The view tended to be taken for granted.

In the distance, was the coastline of Syria. From this vantage point, it looked very similar to Cyprus. She’d never been to Syria but wanted to go someday—if anything survived the current civil war. She wanted to visit the ruins that were the Krak des Chevaliers-“
Fortress of
Knights
.” Built during the time of the Crusades and the site of numerous attacks, T.E. Lawrence called it “the finest castle in the world.” She questioned how he came to have that opinion, considering England’s beautiful castles, many of which served as fortresses. She longed to walk the walls and passageways. She wanted to stand on one of the defense towers and pretend the landscape still looked much the same as it had nearly a thousand years ago. She wanted to absorb the courage and energy that once filled the fortress.

One day, she’d visit Damascus too. For no other reason than to see the Mausoleum of Saladin. She often imagined having tea or drinks with different historical and literary figures. Saladin was one she’d like to have tea with, but not him alone. She’d like to have Richard the First,
the Lionheart
, at the table too.

Warriors both, much of their stories were defined by their military leadership. They were used to battlefield life and living out of tents. The tea took shape in her imagination. She, too, would have a tent. She’d declare it a neutral zone. She’d set it up in the shadow of Krak des Chevaliers’ walls. The exterior would be plain, white canvas, but the interior she’d drape with copper, red, and gold silk panels.

They’d sit at a brass table, low and round. She’d fill a platter of luscious fruits, dates, figs, and apricots. In the center of the fruits, she’d stack a bowl with stuffed grape leaves and crusty bread. She’d request they be drenched with fresh lemon juice, the way she liked her dolmas. Here they would nibble and enjoy a chat. An off-the-record casual conversation to find out what history got right and what it got wrong about each. What fascinating fun.

Charlotte continued toward Ada’s after a para-sailor dropped down directly in front of her interrupting her tea and chat daydream.

#

At the café, she sat at the corner table Atakan preferred. A few tables away, near the promenade, sat the pretty brunette Charlotte had seen there a few days earlier. That day, the woman accompanied a rough looking, older man.
Arm candy
. This time she was alone. The brunette glanced up from her magazine and smiled at Charlotte. She returned it with a weak one of her own and then pulled her laptop out and opened it, bringing up the file with her C.V.

“May I bring you a drink?” the waiter asked, setting a menu down.

“Do you have Johnnie Walker Black?”

“Sorry madam, we have only red.”

“Red will do. I’d like a double with ice and a glass of seltzer water on the side, please.”

The waiter nodded and left.

Charlotte reread her resume. It was ready to send but she knew that before she reread the letter. Preaddressed to the Field Museum, she took a deep breath, then hit “send.”

Attached to the file were the addresses and Human Resource contacts for the other five museums that interested her. Powerfully tempted to leave things at one attempt, she fought an internal battle. To do one was cowardly. When the Field Museum turned her down for one of their very few positions, which was likely, as her field, nautical archaeology, wasn’t mentioned in their employment site, she’d use the excuse not to make other inquiries. She’d tell herself,
I tried
. Rationalizing further inaction with, “I’ve done what Nuray asked.” But, could she live with the guilt if Nuray was right?

She addressed the remaining inquiries and sent them off before she could change her mind.

Her scotch came as she finished—just in time, because she needed the balm of alcohol. She put her laptop away and ordered a small plate of dolmas. She had a taste for the grape leaves after her imaginary tea with Saladin and Richard.

The pretty brunette from the other table came over as Charlotte was mixing seltzer into her scotch.

“Hello, may I join you?” The brunette stood behind the chair on Charlotte’s right, her hand on the back awaiting permission to sit.

“Sure,” Charlotte told her.

The brunette put her purse and magazine on the other chair and extended her hand. “You looked lonely. I thought you might like some company. I’m Rana.”

“Charlotte,” she said, shaking Rana’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you, but I wasn’t lonely.”

Rana’s brows lifted a notch. “I’m sorry. I am intruding. Shall I go?”

“No. Please stay. I’ve ordered dolmas. We can share them.”

“I saw you the other day at the café with some gentlemen friends. I mistook their absence for you being lonely.”

“They’re busy at the camp.”

“Camp?”

“We’re here working the shipwreck site farther down the beach.”

“They’ll be along later then?”

“Yes, we come here most every evening. What about your gentleman friend, the man you were with the other day? Where’s he?”

“He is not my friend. I do not even like him. He is most unpleasant.”

Kind of odd, Charlotte thought. Why come to a resort area with a man you don’t like? If she was applying for a job with the man, Ada’s wasn’t the sort of location where one conducts an interview. They weren’t lovers. The relationship, whatever it was, didn’t sound work related. Nothing else came readily to Charlotte’s mind. She was mildly curious what it was and finding out was a temporary distraction from her doldrums over possibly leaving Atakan.

The waiter came with the grape leaves. After he left, Charlotte squeezed more lemon juice over the dolmas.

“If you dislike him, why socialize with him? From what I saw, you were enjoying drinks and talk.”

“I must put up with his dark personality. He works for my fiancé. He pilots his boat.”

Charlotte glanced at Rana’s ring-less finger. Rana noticed.

“We are not formally engaged yet. He has not asked me but I believe he will. I love him and am determined he will find he loves me in return,” Rana said with a firm, confident smile.

“You came here by boat then?”

Rana nodded.

Charlotte figured it had to be a decent-sized boat with a good sundeck on the bow and stern, if a pilot was required. “Which boat is yours?” she asked, looking out to the marina.

Rana’s face lit up and she pointed to a motor yacht of good size flying the crescent and star flag of Turkey. “That one.”

Briefly, Charlotte considered what type of boat Tischenko would use to come to Cyprus. Not a yacht, of that she was certain. He’d want to keep a low profile. He’d go for something smaller that he could operate alone. The boat Rana and her lover came in was too big and too stylish for his purpose. It did have good decks, one above the bridge and another, larger one on the stern. Had they passed Tischenko on the way here?

Rana slid her sunglasses to the top of head and squinted. “I’m trying to see if my...” She glanced at Charlotte then back at the yacht, “My fiancé is on the deck.”

“Why didn’t your fiancé accompany you the other day or today?”

Rana turned at the question and hesitated before answering. “His health is not good. He tires easily. Often, he is too ill to eat. The sickness takes a terrible toll on him so he stays onboard. But, he worries I’ll be bored sitting with him all day and urges me to come ashore for fun and shopping. Most days, I spend my time onboard with him.”

A poignant sadness came into Rana’s eyes when she spoke of his illness. Charlotte suspected his condition was serious. From the look in her eyes, she wondered if Rana was afraid the disease was terminal. Her belief they would become engaged was probably Rana’s emotional denial of the situation, the young woman’s way of coping. Charlotte felt sorry for her. Belief alone couldn’t alter their future, no matter how much Rana wanted it to. 

But the information piqued Charlotte’s interest. If he stayed onboard all the time and she much of the time, there was a chance they’d seen Tischenko. They’d have a good view of the decks on other boats, from either of their decks.