by J. R. Rain
“A crowbar, I think. It was lying across the tomb. Hang on.”
I heard grunting and more grunting and I applauded the woman’s effort. Finally, unable to pry the sarcophagus open and gasping, she admitted defeat. I had a brief image of her sweating up a storm down in that hole. The image wasn’t unappealing.
Her voice reached me. “There are no clues, either. No mosaics, no secret buttons that I can see. Nothing.”
“Well, come back. And bring that metal rod with you.”
It took a great effort to haul herself back up from the bottom tomb. I could tell from her disgusted expression that she didn’t understand why I’d asked her to bring the silly iron rod. I grunted as I pulled her into the main tomb, taking the rusty iron shaft from her in the process. Together again, I shut the swinging portal.
“We can always come back when you are feeling up to it.”
“Uh-huh,” I said, studying the metal rod. It was old, that much was certain. But there were no markings on it, or any indication just what exactly it was.
“At least, we found his tomb—and a curtain rod for a small window.”
I shook my head and took her hand and, after tucking the rusty rod inside my jacket, we exited together the way we had come. I eased the tomb door shut behind us, listening for the heavy lock to fall into place. Once it did, I scanned the külliye, which was still empty. We had been lucky... very lucky.
Chapter Nine
The thought about how lucky we had been had barely entered into my mind before I glimpsed a long shadow that moved in similar fashion to a stalking lioness.
“This way,” I said, directing Hannah into a narrow alley to our left. I’d been followed plenty since I’d left London and I was tired of it, but I didn’t see any point in walking right into someone’s trap either.
“What is it?” Hannah asked.
I had picked up the pace noticeably and my sore ribs and the stitches protested against the motion. I clenched my teeth, fought the pain. It wasn’t the first time I’d had to endure such a thing and I doubted that it would be my last. “Just hurry,” I replied.
We turned to the right when we came to where two alleys intersected and followed the second alley until we came to a street. There, we turned left, then left again when we came to a perpendicular alley. I hoped that the zigzag pattern would shake our pursuer. It didn’t. I could still hear his muffled footsteps.
Hannah had long since caught on to the fact that we were being followed. She looked back.
“He’s still coming, Alan.”
I nodded, grimaced. If we kept up what we were doing, I’d be too slow and weak to either run or fight back. Irritated by that realization, my stubborn nature kicked in. To hell with this. I’m not running anymore. I saw the perfect opportunity to create an ambush up ahead.
“When we get to that alley, you turn left,” I ordered.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
“I’m going to turn right.”
“Are you sure we should separate?”
“It’ll be temporary, trust me.”
Further discussion became impossible as we came to the intersecting alleys. Hannah turned left and I turned right. The moment I ducked to the right, I slipped to the corner of the building, nearest to where our follower would be coming. I could hear Hannah’s retreating footfalls to the left. I paused at the intersection of alleys and listened, before turning to the left, toward Hannah. The moment he did, I lunged, bringing the conical end of the rod in my hand down on the back of his head. He crumbled to the ground.
I took several seconds to catch my breath and would have enjoyed a few more, but the groans and stirring of the man I’d just cold-cocked wouldn’t allow it. Placing my knee between his shoulder blades, I pinned him to the ground with all of my weight.
“Who are you and why are you following us?” I hissed.
“You were at the mosque,” he gasped. “Why?”
I increased the pressure of my knee, and withdrew my pistol. There was no mistaking the distinct sound of the hammer drawing back. I pressed the undoubtedly cold muzzle to the side of his temple. “That’s not quite how this works. I’ll be asking the questions. Let’s start with your name.”
“Eli Lieberwitz,” he grunted.
Another Jewish name? I frowned. “Where are you from?”
“Tel Aviv,” he answered. “I used to live in Waukegan, Illinois.”
Three Jewish Americans on the train and now, another one? It couldn’t be a coincidence. “Do you work for Isaac Goldstein?”
“I’m not at liberty to say,” he said, and grunted when I added a little bit more pressure with my knee.
“Allan!” It was Hannah. “What are you doing?”
“Having tea. What does it look like I’m doing?”
She came up to us, her mouth open. “Well... well, no need to be rude about it!”
See, the cocked pistol pressed against the man’s temple no doubt alarmed her. Hell, it alarmed me. Ordinarily, I might have been a little less aggressive, but the pain of my injuries and my irritability had made me a little less sensitive. I sighed. “I’m questioning the man who was following us. He was about to tell me whether or not he’s acquainted with our friend Goldstein from the train.”
“You are friends with Goldstein?” Lieberwitz asked.
“You might call it that,” I replied. “We happen to have a mutual enemy at the moment. My question still stands. Speak now or... my girlfriend is gonna kick you with her heels. And I might even shoot you, too.”
“Allan! I would never.”
“Don’t tell him that! Look how sharp those suckers are. He’s worried, I know it.”
“I’m not worried.”
I grounded the gun a bit harder into his temple.
“Okay, now, I’m worried.”
“Talk,” I said. “Now.”
“Some of our people were to meet Goldstein when he got off the train.”
It wasn’t an out-and-out admission to knowing Goldstein, but it was enough for me to draw the pistol back from his head. “I’m going to let you up, but do keep the pistol in mind before you try anything stupid. And her heels, too.”
I rose from my position on his back. He turned over and sat up.
“What did you hit me with?” he asked, rubbing the back of his head.
“A curtain rod,” I replied, glancing sideways at Hannah.
“Why were you following us?” she asked.
He was about to respond when I heard the sound of cocking weapons; several of them, in fact. Whoever had come up behind us had done so damn quietly. Hannah squelched a startled scream. I did, too.
“Lose the pistol,” a voice said from the shadows.
Eli Lieberwitz grinned. “Sorry, old chap.” He reached out to take the pistol from my raised hands. “I wasn’t the only one following you. We couldn’t take any chances.”
“Of course not,” I sighed. Things had really gotten off on the wrong foot in Istanbul.
“So, I will ask some questions now,” Eli began.
“If I allow it,” I said.
Eli chuckled lightly. “Who are you?”
“I’m Major Allan Quatermain. I am a professor of history at the Royal Military Academy at Sandhurst.”
“Very well. I’ll ask again: what were you doing snooping around the mosque?”
“I am a historian, so my interests lie toward old buildings and tombs,” I responded. I saw no point in revealing neither my true purpose nor Hannah’s identity. “My companion is interested in architecture.”
“Who is your companion?” Eli asked. I could tell by the look on his face that he was enjoying the turn of events.
“That’s none of your damn—”
“I am Dr. Hannah Byrd,” she cut in. “I am an art fellow at Magdalen College in London. My husband and I are enjoying the ancient city of Istanbul. Is that some sort of crime?”
“It’s not, but how do we know you are who you say you are?” asked an unfamiliar v
oice behind us.
“He says that he knows Isaac Goldstein,” Eli said, looking up at the man who I had only heard and not seen. “He said they had a common enemy on the train.”
“You’re the guy who got attacked and beaten badly on the train?” the man behind me asked.
“You should have seen the other guy,” I said.
“Give him back his gun, Eli,” the man ordered.
Eli thumbed the hammer forward carefully and then flipped the gun around in his hand, extending the handle toward me.
“The name’s David Shabbat,” the voice from behind me said as I turned around to face him. “I know of you. Isaac has led me to understand that we might have a common interest.”
“And what’s that?”
“You are looking for a relic that a certain Nazi dictator would like to get his hands on. We, on the other hand, are looking for this very same dictator himself. Perhaps we should join forces. There are hundreds of us spread throughout the city.”
I wasn’t eager to join forces with anyone I didn’t know very well. But I also knew the value of a friend. “I’ll think about it.”
“Please do.”
“Now, if you don’t mind,” I said, nodding. “We’d like to go back to our hotel.”
“Let us make sure that you arrive safely.”
I waved the gun. “No thanks. We’ll get along just fine.”
Chapter Ten
When we awoke the following morning, I was in a surprisingly good mood. Hannah’s attentions had been enough to put me in great spirits for the past days anyway, but that morning, I felt particularly cheerful and there was no hiding my smile.
Hannah asked me about it, but I only grinned without giving any explanation. We sat down to breakfast and the strong Turkish coffee in our suite; afterward, we went out.
She had examined the iron rod in the morning light and noted that it had a small pyramid-like shape at one end and a cone shape at the other. She thought it odd, given her artistic background, but fascinating, nonetheless.
Outside the hotel, I turned onto the road toward the east. On the way, we found a ferry to take us across the Bosphorus, where we hailed a taxi. I asked the driver to take us to Nicomedia. Thirty minutes later, we arrived at the site of the city’s old town.
Hand in hand, we walked to the site. A big operation was going on, and from what I could tell, the activity was centered around two large trenches. Interestingly, the site was located within the town itself, and was nearly surrounded by apartment buildings. Pedestrians and cars followed detours around the site. As we approached what appeared to be the main gate into the dig, I noted the presence of armed men among the civilians. There was digging going on, but not of the archeological kind.
“Do you see your father?” I asked.
“No.”
“Nor do I.”
“Maybe he’s in one of the tents?” she suggested.
“Maybe. But there’s something wrong here.”
“Wrong?”
“C’mon,” I said, taking her elbow. “Not here.”
When we had gone several blocks, I stopped in the shade of a gently flapping canopy.
“That’s not an archeological dig,” I said. “It’s a military site. And if I had to guess, they are setting up shop permanently.”
“A base?”
I nodded.
“But, Allan. It looks like an archaeological site.”
“I think that’s the point. It might fool some.”
“I don’t understand. Why go through the trouble to create a false dig?”
“So no one will go looking for the real one,” I replied. “Or suspect you have, in fact, moved an entire battalion into the streets. Those weren’t Turks.”
“Germans?”
“Would be my guess.”
“So, where’s the real dig site?”
“That’s the million-dollar question.” I had no sooner finished speaking than I saw two very large blonde men walk out of a restaurant ahead of us. They spied Hannah and me, looked us over, discounted us, then mounted a truck, which immediately began lumbering up the street away from us. “But these guys might know.”
“They could be tourists, Allan.”
I shook my head. “They are military.”
“How do you know?”
“I know.”
“Fine. Well, they’re probably going back to the camp.”
“The camp is behind us. They’re going someplace else.”
“Where?”
I gave her a lopsided grin. “Only one way to find out. We’re going to follow that truck.”
“And how do you plan to follow the truck?”
She followed my outstretched arm and finger as I pointed at a nearby motorcycle.
“With that,” I responded.
“We can’t just take it.”
“We can, if I pay for it.”
“And what if he doesn’t want to sell it?”
I reached inside my coat pocket and pulled out a wad of lira, the Turkish currency. By my estimate, the amount was easily twice as much as the motorcycle was worth. “I’ll make him an offer he can’t refuse.”
It took a lot longer to haggle a deal with the owner of the motorcycle than I’d planned. Meanwhile, the truck had long since made a right turn far ahead. Except, I was pretty sure I knew where it was going.
When the young man seemed satisfied—I had ended up paying three times what the bike was worth, but at least he had thrown in the goggles—we mounted and I gave the throttle a hard twist. Hannah held me tightly from behind, the length of her torso pressed against my back. I wasn’t complaining.
I kept my eyes focused on the narrow street where I thought I’d seen the truck make its turn. I passed bicyclists and cars and a bus or two. I might have woven in and out of traffic a little too recklessly. Luckily, Hannah wasn’t aware of just how recklessly, as she kept the side of her face pressed against my shoulder blades. Every now and then, especially when I gave the handlebars a hard yank, Hannah squealed like a wounded animal.
I hit the final turn hard, skidding, using my right foot as a guide. I kicked up dust and rocks, and twisted the throttle as hard as I could. We rocketed forward, nearly taking flight, and I passed a group of startled schoolchildren. One of the boys pumped a fist at me and laughed. I suspected he was a future daredevil.
I’d never thought of myself as a daredevil. I was an academic. An academic who was currently in hot pursuit of a truck that just might lead the way to a secret dig site. Or so I hoped.
We swept past slower cars and even a speeding motorcycle. Turned out, I had stumbled upon a faster bike. Good for us. The road opened up as we rapidly left behind the busy city. Stark mountains appeared on either side. Before us was a bigger mountain range. The road wound ever upward, shimmering in the light of day.
Had I lost the truck? Had it made a turn down a side road we had missed? It was entirely possible. Perhaps the haggling for the motorcycle had taken longer than I’d thought. I angled the bike and hit a long, looping bend in the road perhaps faster than I should have.
“Allan!” squealed a voice from somewhere between my shoulder blades. I ignored the voice, and gave the bike even more gas.
The squeal had just turned into hyperventilating when from around the bend in the road there appeared the rear end of a familiar truck.
“Gotcha,” I whispered and eased off the gas and drifted back. With any luck, they hadn’t spotted me.
When Hannah had sensed the bike slowing down, her head appeared from over my shoulder, her breath hot in my ear. By this time, the road had straightened out and she spotted the truck. “Okay, so now what?”
“We follow at a safe distance behind.”
“Safe is good. Where are we going?” Hannah asked.
I nodded to where the narrow road angled up into the biggest of the nearby mountain ranges. “Into the mountains would be my guess.”
She nodded and settled her cheek against my back and
held on as tightly as ever.
The wind whipped my hair and bugs rebounded against my cheeks and forehead. The goggles were a godsend. I didn’t mind the bugs or specks of sand, just as long as I could see where the hell we were going.
And we were going up.
I hoped that the motorcycle had been fueled. I really didn’t want to have to walk back and I was certain Hannah wouldn’t be thrilled about the prospect. Up we drove. Higher and higher. I did my best to keep a safe distance behind, often following only the truck’s dust plume, as we had long since left the paved highway.
Now, we were without even a dirt path, and I maneuvered as best I could around the bigger boulders. Luckily, I had fresh tire grooves to follow. To my surprise, the path soon paralleled the ledge of a cliff face. A cliff that was very, very high up. I felt my insides shrinking a bit, and decided to not look down. Nope, not at all.
I’d often studied maps of Istanbul and knew of her many ancient sites. Now, as we followed the dust plume ahead of us, I was doing my best to wrap my head around exactly which site would be located in these bleak mountains to the north of Nicomedia. I could think of none.
And, so lost was I in my reverie that I had failed to notice the truck had stopped. It was Hannah who desperately patted me on the shoulder and pointed.
I pulled the motorcycle behind a bigger rock and noted the truck was no more than a click away. Interestingly, it was pointing out toward the cliff edge—toward, in fact, the massive valley that opened before it. A valley that I still refused to fully acknowledge by looking down. I had just concluded the truck was making to reverse away from the cliff’s edge when, in fact, I heard the gears on the truck grinding and the engine revving: a sure sign that the truck was about to start down a steep grade. Obviously, there was a path down that was beyond my line of vision. No doubt it was steep and vomit inducing.
“What’s happening?” she asked, slipping off of the bike and glaring at the offensive machine.
“The crazy bastards are heading down into the valley.” I pulled the binoculars from my pack and handed them to her as I opened the cap on the gas tank. As nearly as I could estimate, it was about half full. Thank the good lord for that.