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by Ruth Hartzler


  Thatcher spoke for the first time. “This doesn’t really change anything except to make us more cautious, and we intended to be cautious to start with.”

  Abigail thought it over. “You’re right. Surely Jason could simply have said not to trust Eymen Bulut, or if he didn’t want to name him, simply said not to trust the man from Ephesus—maybe even said not to trust the man with the scroll. Why did he attempt to obfuscate matters?”

  Ellis was still wearing the same irritated expression on his face. “Because he didn’t want anyone to know what he was really saying.”

  “But why choose a verse from Revelation?” Abigail countered. “He was an ancient Greek scholar, specifically the Iron Age. He was not a Biblical scholar. His area of expertise was Herodotus and Homer. He was more interested in Doric and Ionic dialects than Biblical Greek which was some five hundred to six hundred years later. No, I’m sure there’s a reason why he quoted Revelation.”

  “Eymen was particularly interested in the Book of Revelation,” Riley said. “His emails to Hobbs mentioned it was of interest to him, particularly as he was so close to Ephesus, which is named as one of the seven churches of Asia in the Bible.”

  Ellis cleared his throat. “Can I have a word with you, Riley?”

  He stood up and walked to the back of the plane, followed by Riley, who looked back over his shoulder. “Coffee, Abigail? Thatcher?”

  Both said they would like some coffee. Abigail could see them having what looked to her like a heated argument. Even from the distance, she could see Ellis’s face was flushed. He was gesturing in an animated fashion.

  She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she was certain Ellis didn’t want her on the mission.

  On a more practical matter, Abigail wondered if she should have agreed to more coffee. She’d had a rushed day working on her paper for the upcoming conference, while keeping up her lecture schedule. She hadn’t eaten much that day and had lived on coffee and sugar. Right now, she was shaking and she didn’t know if it was from the situation in which she now found herself or from being over caffeinated—maybe both. She was starving. Her stomach rumbled loudly and she shot a look at Thatcher.

  He seemed to think that was an invitation to talk. “So, I suppose I should say welcome to RHTF.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “RHTF?”

  Thatcher looked over his shoulder. Riley and Ellis had ceased their argument and were making coffee, although were still in conversation. “I hope I didn’t let the cat out of the bag. But surely you signed some papers?”

  Abigail nodded. “Yes, I did.”

  Thatcher looked immensely relieved. “The name was on the papers. RHTF, Relic Hunters Taskforce.”

  Abigail felt a bit of a fool. “Oh yes, well, yes. I vaguely remember that now.” Truth be told, she did vaguely remember a name but hadn’t quite remembered what it was. “So, the four of us are working for RHTF?”

  Thatcher nodded again. “Yes, I’ve read your file, but the intricacies of your field of research escaped me. What exactly do you do again?”

  “My research interest is lexicography,” she told him. “I’m not sure if you’re familiar with lexicography?”

  The blank look on his face supplied the answer, so she pushed on. “A lexicon is a dictionary. Lexicography is the work of dictionary meaning. When people first translated ancient documents from ancient languages, not all the meanings were known at the time, so they made educated guesses at some of the words from the context. Centuries later, many inscriptions and papyri were discovered. These contained previously unknown words in a variety of different contexts. These conclusively show what the words mean. To put it in a nutshell, lexicographers search all these occurrences of words and figure out what the words mean.”

  “Like a puzzle?”

  She nodded. “Exactly. So, when the famous Liddell and Scott Greek Lexicon was produced in 1843, they didn’t know the meaning of many of the words, so they made educated guesses. Many think that Charles Lutwidge Dodgson, who you would know by his pen name, Lewis Carroll, based Humpty Dumpty on George Liddell. There’s a line in Alice in Wonderland that says Humpty Dumpty could make a word mean whatever he wanted it to mean.”

  “Where in Alice in Wonderland does it say that?” Thatcher asked.

  Abigail quoted the passage.

  ‘But “glory” doesn’t mean “a nice knock-down argument,”’ Alice objected.

  ‘When I use a word,’ Humpty Dumpty said in rather a scornful tone, ‘it means just what I choose it to mean—neither more nor less.’

  ‘The question is,’ said Alice, ‘whether you can make words mean so many different things.’

  Abigail sighed. “Many people think that was Lewis Carroll being disdainful about George Liddell’s lexicography. Jason liked to tell his students that story.” She sighed again as she thought of poor Jason. She had known him for years. A likeable man, Jason had been a reputable scholar and a friend. She couldn’t believe he was dead.

  Abigail was still lost with her thoughts when Riley and Ellis returned. Riley placed a large mug of coffee in front of her. She looked into the liquid pool and saw it was dark. That’s all she needed—more caffeine, and strong at that. Her stomach growled loudly in protest.

  Nevertheless, she sipped the brew and was glad it was sweet. At least she was getting some carbohydrates into her, she thought with a rueful smile.

  “I’m afraid we’ve had news,” Ellis said, although he was addressing Thatcher. “Eymen Bulut is dead.”

  “Dead?” Abigail repeated in shock.

  “Yes, he was shot in the ruins of Ephesus.”

  Abigail realized her mouth had fallen open and hurried to shut it. “But what about the scroll?” she asked, not wanting to sound uncaring.

  Ellis shook his head. “We don’t have a clue.”

  Thatcher tapped himself on the chin. “So the police found his body in the ruins of Ephesus?”

  Ellis nodded.

  Thatcher pushed on. “Why would he visit there? He’s lived nearby all his life. Maybe he thought he was meeting with Hobbs?”

  “Well, that’s one conclusion we could draw,” Riley said. “It does certainly seem as though their email correspondence has been tampered with, as there’s no mention of any such meeting. It could be any number of things, but if that’s the case and someone was impersonating Hobbs, then they probably have the copper scroll.”

  Abigail gripped the chair as the plane suddenly banked hard to the left.

  8

  RHTF HEADQUARTERS: UNDISCLOSED LOCATION

  HOURS EARLIER

  Riley was never comfortable in the RHTF offices. He far preferred the outdoors, and the only greenery he could now see was the high-tech roof terrace covered by all sorts of exotic plants. To him, it looked more like a scene from Lost in Space than a suite of government offices.

  He averted his eyes from the glare of the sun pounding through the vast panorama of floor to ceiling glass windows and forced his attention back to the meeting.

  Ellis pushed a folder aside and leaned across the table. “I don’t like it.”

  The director folded his arms over his chest as his lips formed a thin line. “What’s the problem?”

  Riley always thought the director looked like the Smoking Man from The X-Files: the physical resemblance, the air of danger. He wasn’t someone to cross.

  Ellis winced. “The woman has no training.”

  “Exactly. She’s an academic. Her skills are the type we need for this mission,” Riley pointed out.

  “That’s my point.” Ellis drummed his fingers on the table, a movement so sudden he nearly knocked over his glass of water. “She’s a civilian. She’s an academic. She’s of no use in combat.”

  The director narrowed his eyes. “Let’s hope it won’t come to that. At any rate, she proved her worth on the mission.”

  Ellis’s face flushed. “But she didn’t recover the stones.”

  “Have you forgotten I was with her at
the time?” Riley said.

  Thatcher spoke up. “I don’t understand your objections, Ellis. We do need her. We won’t have time to take photographs and send them back to her to translate. She needs to be on the spot.”

  Ellis appeared to be thinking it over. “You’re probably right, but I still don’t like it.”

  The director nodded his head. “If you’ll both step outside, I need a word with Riley.”

  Ellis and Thatcher stood, gathered their notes, and walked outside the door. As soon as the door shut, the director came straight to the point. “Riley, we could have a problem.”

  Riley arched one eyebrow.

  The director handed Riley a coin in a plastic bag. “A Lydian coin. Were you aware coins originated in Lydia?” He did not pause to allow Riley to respond. “They were gold, silver, or electrum, which is a naturally-occurring alloy of gold and silver. The coin you have there is of the lion and bull design. It’s been appraised as in Choice About Uncirculated condition, which is rare for a coin that age. That coin is worth around fifty-eight thousand dollars.”

  Riley quickly handed the coin back to the director.

  The director turned the coin over. “This was found in the tomb of a Lydian princess. In 1966, over one million dollars was paid for twenty pieces of the treasure found in her tomb by tomb robbers. We, of course, procured some other samples.”

  He paused. “The size of a Lydian coin represented different monetary values. A small coin today in a lesser condition would be worth at least four thousand dollars. You can imagine how much a whole chest of these coins would be worth, and one chest of coins would be but a minuscule fraction of the Croesus treasure.”

  He stood up, walked to the window, and then sat down again. “If you can’t retrieve the treasure, then make sure that nobody else can.”

  Riley nodded. Those were his usual orders. “You mentioned a problem?”

  “I think we have a mole.”

  Riley turned ice cold. “A mole?” he parroted. “Not in my unit?”

  The director’s expression did not change. “I have no idea. Just be on your guard.”

  “Can you tell me any more?” Riley asked.

  The director’s response was a curt, “No.”

  Riley leaned back and laced his fingers behind his head. Great! He didn’t want to lead Abigail into danger. And if there was a mole, who could it be? Surely not Ellis or Thatcher? And why wouldn’t the director give him any more information?

  9

  TURKEY

  Abigail’s stomach clenched as the plane sped along the runway. She was relieved they had landed, but she wondered what lay ahead of her. During the last mission, she had been inside a dark, ancient cave and had walked only inches away from certain death in an abyss.

  Surely nothing like that would happen again? She was merely going to translate the scroll. Still, she couldn’t help but worry. Maybe she should have thought harder before she joined the organization. At the time, she had no idea she would encounter any more life-threatening situations. And, if she were to be honest with herself, part of the attraction of the job was Riley.

  Abigail was on full alert as she passed through customs and then walked through the airport, a public not military airport this time.

  She was surprised how easy it was to transport guns on international flights. Riley had told her it was no problem to transport unloaded firearms in a locked, hard-sided gun case, along with suitably secured ammunition, as checked baggage. He simply had to declare the firearms and ammunition to the airline and go through a couple of easy procedures.

  It wasn’t until Abigail saw the sign, İzmir Adnan Menderes Havalimanı, that she realized she was in Izmir.

  Abigail was tense. Despite the air-conditioning she felt hot all over. She kept her eye on a man who appeared to be watching her. Was he a Vortex agent? Did he have a gun? She was about to point him out to Riley when he was joined by a woman with young children.

  She breathed a sigh of relief and shook her head. Her imagination was certainly running away with her.

  Abigail left Riley to use the bathroom. She was afraid someone would inject her with a deadly substance, or at least knock her over the head and push her into a stall. When a woman brushed past her, she jumped away in terror.

  Abigail forced herself to take several deep breaths. She couldn’t continue to imagine an assassin around every corner. She had to get control of her fears.

  When she walked out of the bathroom, Riley was waiting for her. He handed her a soda and a bag of potato chips. “We’ll get something more substantial as soon as we can,” he told her. Abigail shot him a grateful smile. The potato chips were welcome, but she was worried about the sugar content of the soda. She was already on a caffeine and sugar high. Maybe the potato chips would soak up some of it.

  Presently Thatcher joined them, but they had to wait longer for Ellis.

  “I hired a car,” he said by way of greeting. Without further word, he turned on his heel and marched away. The others followed him.

  The car was a white Renault. Abigail climbed into the back seat with Riley, who at once told Ellis the address of a pizza place.

  Food had never tasted so good to Abigail. She had no idea when she fell asleep, but sleep she did as she awoke with a start when the car came to a sudden stop. She looked around, startled, taking a few moments to realize where she was.

  Riley looked across at her. “We’ve booked rooms here.”

  He hurried to the car to take the luggage out of the trunk. He handed a plain brown suitcase to Abigail. “That’s yours,” he said, frowning.

  Abigail knew better than to ask questions in a public place, even though she could see no one around. “Thanks,” was all she said.

  Ellis reached for the bell and pressed it. Over the bell hung a board, which was leaning haphazardly to the left. On the board were painted the words, ‘Night Bell.’

  Ellis rang the bell a few more times before a surly looking man, short and portly with a shock of white hair, answered the door. His eyes were bloodshot and he looked as though he had awoken from a deep sleep.

  “What you want?” he said in English.

  “We’ve booked,” Ellis said.

  The man merely grunted and moved aside for them to enter.

  Abigail shot a cursory look around the lobby. The floor was carpeted in unpleasant shades of red and orange, and two mismatched upholstered chairs were pushed against one wall. Between them was a small table with magazines flung across the surface.

  Ellis handed the man some bills. The man looked at the cash and then looked up at Ellis. “Most people pay online,” he grunted.

  Ellis shrugged. “I tried to, but the Internet connection kept dropping out.”

  The man handed a key to Abigail and a key to Ellis. “Room numbers are on the keys.” He pointed to the ceiling and then disappeared through a door behind the reception desk.

  The men exchanged glances. Riley picked up his suitcase as well as Abigail’s. “Come on.”

  Abigail figured that covert operatives probably chose nondescript hotels such as this one. A wave of nausea hit her as she thought that Vortex agents might be in the same hotel. After all, they were mercenaries, and probably all agents thought alike. The idea offered her no comfort.

  When they reached Abigail’s room, Riley took Abigail’s key and said, “Wait here.” He switched on the light. The light was dim and Abigail was exhausted.

  He disappeared into the room for a few moments. When he returned, he handed Abigail the key. “The three of us are next door.” He pointed up the corridor and then pressed a burner phone into Abigail’s hands.

  “Don’t answer the door to anybody, and I mean anybody. I’ll call you on this phone in the morning. If I don’t call, don’t open the door even if I identify myself. Do you understand?”

  Abigail said that she did. She walked inside and shut the door before locking and barring it.

  The room was just as dreary as the rest o
f the hotel. It seemed to be clean, at least on a rudimentary inspection. There was a bed, two pillows, a desk pushed up against a wall, and through the open door she could see a bathroom. The tiny shower too seemed to be clean. “That’s something at least,” Abigail said aloud.

  Abigail opened the suitcase to see what was in there. She took out the clothes and saw to her surprise they were all her size. How did they know her size? It seemed a little too personal to her. Still, there were various toiletries so she wasn’t about to complain.

  Abigail must have been more tired than she thought, because she slept soundly and was awoken by an unfamiliar ringtone. She fumbled for the phone, groggy. It had spent the night under her pillow.

  “Can you be ready in ten? Packed and ready to go?” Riley asked.

  Abigail put on her best I am already awake voice. “Yes.”

  “I’ll call you again before I knock.”

  After five minutes, Abigail was sitting on a chair just inside the door, waiting for Riley to call again.

  “I’m coming to your door now,” he said. As soon as he knocked, she opened the door. Riley and Thatcher were smiling, but Ellis’s face formed a barely veiled scowl. As Abigail followed the three men down the corridor and into the elevator, she mused on the fact that Ellis didn’t like her. Maybe he didn’t like civilians on a mission, or maybe she reminded him of his ex-wife and their divorce had been nasty. Of course, Abigail had no idea whether Ellis had ever been married but figured there must be a reason for his attitude.

  When they were in the car, she asked, “Where are we going?”

  “We’re going to speak with Eymen Bulut’s wife. Widow,” Riley corrected himself. “She’s in Selcuk.” To Ellis, he said, “Take the Old Highway.”

  “Isn’t that slower?” Ellis asked.

  “Ten to fifteen minutes slower,” Riley said, “but we don’t have a toll sticker or transponder.”

  Abigail figured they didn’t want a credit card record of their route. She wanted to ask more questions, but she wasn’t comfortable with Ellis and Thatcher. She looked out the window, enjoying the scenery and intrigued by a massive stone fortress on a hill just before they reached Selcuk.

 

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