Blue Voyage

by Diana Renn

  When I got close to the edge of the fire escape, I leaped for it, just barely grabbing on to the iron railing. The whole structure creaked ominously. I held my breath, tested my weight, and then continued onward and upward, toward the open window. Push up. Pull up. Trust your feet.

  “Zan! Are you all right?” Nazif called anxiously.

  “I’m good!” I turned my attention to the window. The glass was covered with black paper, but where it was cracked open a few inches, I could see a metal window screen behind it. If I could raise the window higher, maybe I could see inside through the mesh screen. Grunting, I tried to pull it open some more, pushing up, in, out—and finally managed to move it up six inches. That was as far as it would raise, evidently hitting some kind of security lock from inside. But it was enough for me. I lowered my head to peer through the widened section of window screen that I’d exposed. And I nearly gagged.

  It smelled so bad, like toxic paints and chemicals. Now I understood why the window was open: someone must have cracked it to try to let out some of the noxious fumes.

  The room was dim, since most of the windows were covered with dark paper, but a couple had been left uncovered, and they let in just enough light for me to see inside. It appeared to be some sort of workshop or artist’s studio. I could see wooden drying racks stacked with paper, almost like in the art room at my high school. There were a couple of drafting tables, cardboard boxes flattened and folded, and wooden storage crates. Floor-to-ceiling industrial shelves were filled with ceramic busts, mosaic tiles, pottery, rugs, and, just below the window, a low shelf with what looked like loose manuscript pages covered with calligraphy and intricate, colorful illustrations. The shelves were almost like you’d see in a shop, though the contents were more of a jumble than an attractive display.

  I blinked slowly, trying to understand what I was seeing. I noticed the window screen had a slight tear near the bottom. I poked it. It ripped a bit more. Then I took up a corner and yanked it, pulling it out of the frame on the bottom. Now the glass was cracked just high enough, and the window screen ripped almost long enough, so that I could just manage to squeeze inside. If I could just rip out a few more inches of screen from the bottom, I’d be in.

  I started working at the screen again until the fire escape rattled behind me. It was Nazif. He’d managed to climb up the walls, and now was crawling across the iron grate platform to join me.

  “There are rats in the alley,” he said, making a face. “From the restaurant next door, probably.”

  “Ew. But hey. Look inside,” I said, shifting so he could see under the torn part of the screen.

  Nazif ducked his head and looked through the screen. He whistled under his breath.

  I pointed to a small statue on a table. It was half dull gold and half bright gold, with a paintbrush sitting beside it. A smaller bust next to it looked to be made of some kind of oxidized metal—except for the neck, which appeared to be plaster. “That kind of reminds me of the figurines Sage put in my bag. Could all these things be replicas of ancient artifacts that someone is trying to make look real?”

  “Or ancient artifacts being made to look fake?” Nazif countered. “You see those crates? And those black boxes and the plastic cases?” He pointed all these things out to me. “This is exactly the kind of packaging that Lazar brought to that meeting. The urn was in a clear box just like that one.”

  I stared at him. “Wait a second. Didn’t you tell me the other day that Lazar’s clients were going to use disguised packaging for anything they purchased?”

  “Yes.”

  “So they could take stolen goods across borders more easily.” My brain was practically humming now as I made the connections.

  “Along with fake authentication papers certifying the real artifacts as replicas,” said Nazif, his eyes shining.

  “Right. Fake papers like the ones my uncle was commissioned to write. And I bet Lazar uses this workshop to prepare shipments for his Onyx-level clients.” I stared intently through the window, trying to make sense of what was in the room. Toward the back, there were shelves filled to bursting with gold-colored animal figures, bowls, and some familiar-looking shapes. Small, human shapes. I couldn’t hold myself back any longer.

  “What are you doing?” cried Nazif, wide-eyed, as I started pulling at the broken window screen. “You should not be doing that!”

  “I have to go in,” I said, tugging the screen harder. “I have to see what’s on that shelf over there.” I worked at the frayed screen, pulling as hard as I could.

  “What if an alarm goes off?” There was mounting panic in Nazif’s usually calm and measured voice.

  “Then we run for it,” I said. I put my hoodie up over my head and pointed to Nazif’s bellboy cap. “Pull your hat down lower over your face just in case there’s a security camera somewhere.”

  His eyes widened, but when I gestured again for him to pull the brim lower, he did.

  I finally managed to tear the screen enough so that I could push on it, slide beneath the cracked-open glass window, and get inside the room. But first I picked up a twig that had fallen from a tree and landed on the fire escape, and threw it in. “No motion detector,” I said. “Are you coming?”

  Nazif hesitated, then pushed at the screen. “I’m too big to slide under this without tearing it more,” he said. “I will wait out here and keep watch. Do not turn on the lights.”

  “I won’t,” I promised. I held the screen aside and squeezed myself through the window, then ran to the shelf with the gold bowls and figurines. I picked up a bowl, then some of the golden animals. They weighed next to nothing. They were made of plaster. Fakes.

  Then my breath caught in my throat. Near the back of the shelf were about twenty gold figurines. There was also a photo printout next to them, showing pictures of figurines from all different angles. “Look at these, Nazif!” I breathed, bringing two figurines to the window to show him. “They look exactly like the ones Sage bought on the cruise. But those were real, and these are obvious forgeries. Feel them. They’re so lightweight.”

  Nazif touched one gingerly, then looked at his hand as if it had been burned.

  I picked at the paint on one of the animals; it flecked off. “Gold-painted,” I said. “At a glance they look real, though. I bet if someone had a box of these, and you mixed one or two real ones in—and you had papers certifying they were souvenirs—you could get past a security checkpoint.”

  Nazif nodded. “Carrying things out in the open might attract less attention,” he said, looking nervously over his shoulder. “Do you think we can go now?”

  “Just a sec. I want to take one to show someone at the embassy,” I said, handing him a figurine. “Can you put it in your pocket?”

  “What? No! We can’t take this. It’s stealing!”

  “It’s not stealing. It’s collecting evidence.”

  “We’re not professionals. It’s illegal. And we are breaking the law just being here.” Nazif’s voice broke. “Use the camera instead to document anything you think is suspicious. And hurry.”

  “We’re fine,” I assured him. “No alarms went off. I’m sure no one saw us come up here.” I took out his cell phone, which was still in my pants pocket, and walked around the room, snapping pictures. Nazif watched me work, with an expression I couldn’t read. When I’d photographed all I could and handed him back his phone, he took it wordlessly.

  I felt exhilarated, filled with boundless energy, as I slipped out the window and we made our way down the fire escape.

  But by the time we got back to the performance hall for the very end of the sema, I felt deflated. Nazif had said little on the way back. Maybe he’d seen a side of me that was even less attractive than my vitiligo: my talent for breaking the law.

  He sat next to me in the taxi on the way back to the hotel, his knee touching mine. Or mine touching his—I wasn’t
sure how they’d come together. I wanted, with every fiber of my being, to lean against him, to rest my head on his shoulder. But he sat carefully, as if aware of every inch of his body and trying not to cross an invisible boundary. “Hey,” he finally whispered while the Germans in the taxi talked.

  “Yeah?” I whispered back. I wanted him to tell me I’d been brave to find Lazar’s workshop and get those pictures. But his face was serious. “I am wondering if you are too quick not to trust Inspector Lale,” he said. “When we get back to the hotel, maybe you should contact her again. Tell her what we found.”

  I pulled away from him and gave him a long look. “Are you serious? She said she’d get undercover police in our neighborhood, and she hasn’t. I’m being stalked and harassed. Lazar was able to lure me to the Grand Bazaar without any interference. How has she helped me?”

  “Maybe she has undercover police in the area and we just do not know,” he said. “If you can trust her, and show her these pictures, she can take over the case right away. I think you are in too much danger to keep quiet any longer. What if there were hidden cameras in that workshop and Lazar finds out you were inside?”

  My stomach lurched. He had a point. I’d thought my hoodie would disguise me in case the staff at the Lycian Society reviewed the security tapes. But Lazar had probably figured out that I was a girl who wore hoodies a lot. And part of me agreed with Nazif that I should just trust Inspector Lale. But I’d been around too many liars in my life. Maybe that was why I assumed the worst about her.

  No. I would stick to my plan. Once I had solid evidence on Lazar and his organization, I could go to the embassy with it and bypass her completely.

  And if all my efforts to find Sage were unsuccessful, at least I would have found a way to nab Lazar without having to drag Sage into it, too.

  33

  The next morning, I woke up with a cold, hollow feeling. For a moment I thought I might be getting sick. But then I remembered the fire escape, and the secret workshop Nazif and I had discovered and broken into last night. And I remembered Nazif’s face in the taxi, the way our conversation had dissolved into an awkward silence. The way he’d so quickly said good night and hurried home with his father. I buried my head under the pillow and groaned. Nazif hadn’t looked at me with awe when I tore the window screen and went inside the building; he’d looked scared and uncomfortable. I’d dipped back into my old life—breaking and entering, ignoring the law—and even though it was for good reason, it didn’t sit right with me anymore.

  But the day wasn’t going to magically disappear if I stayed in bed, and neither would my problems. I got up, showered, dressed, put on my makeup, and slunk downstairs, dreading the moment I’d run into Nazif. I vowed to push him out of my mind and focus only on getting to the next step of my plan: going to the American embassy to show someone the photo evidence I’d taken.

  To my surprise, escaping the hotel wasn’t so hard this time. Apparently I’d scored points with Mom by showing the Lobsters a good time the day before. As we prepared breakfast for the guests, she asked me to pick up some things for the party at the Arasta Bazaar. “Some nuts, fruit, Turkish delight, whatever you think sounds good to set out in the candy dishes,” she said, handing me cash and a list. “And you can go alone,” she added. “Since it’s right down the street.”

  “Really?” I glowed a little. It felt good to be earning back her trust. Although I felt a twinge of guilt, too, knowing what I’d pulled off at the Lycian Society, all because of a lie. And now I was about to lie again. The moment I got outside, I was going to hail a cab and race to the embassy with Nazif’s cell phone and the pictures I’d taken.

  “Yes, really.” Mom managed a small smile. “Though you should probably go before I change my mind. Oh. Here.” She reached over to a table and handed me a stack of papers and some duct tape. “I distracted Jackie last night by making flyers for the party. Why don’t you post a few of these along the way, and leave some at neighborhood shops.”

  I glanced at the flyers (“Open House at the Mavi! Appetizers! Music! Authentic Turkish Karagöz Puppet Show!”). I put them in my backpack along with the list and the money, grateful to have an errand that would take even more time and help explain what was going to be an unusually long absence.

  Truthfully, I was scared to go outside alone and risk being accosted by Lazar or Vasil. But I was sure I couldn’t get Nazif to go with me to the embassy. Even if his dad let him out, he probably didn’t want to be around me anymore, now that he’d seen my true colors.

  I finally had to confront him, though, because I needed to take his cell phone with me. That’s where all the pictures were.

  Nazif was at the front desk, sorting the mail. I could see his cell phone on the desk beside him. Part of me just wanted to snatch it and run off to avoid seeing the look on his face.

  I approached slowly, not sure what to say. Act cheerful, as if nothing had happened? Or tell him what I was really thinking, which was this: the way Nazif had acted around me last night made me think I didn’t want to break into anything, anywhere, ever again. Even if it were for good reason.

  Hearing me, or sensing me, Nazif looked up. “You have a message,” he said.

  “Merhaba to you, too,” I said, going for the cheerful approach. “I thought you liked to start with hello.”

  “Sorry. Merhaba,” he said. “A call was left for you, on voice mail.”

  I was so relieved that he wasn’t ignoring me or treating me coldly that it took me a minute to process what he was saying.

  “From whom?”

  “A girl,” he said.

  “I bet it’s another setup from Lazar. No way am I falling for it this time,” I said.

  “This seems different,” said Nazif. “She really sounds like an American girl. You must come and listen.”

  I joined him behind the front desk. Nazif dialed into voice mail on the phone and handed me the receiver. For a moment, all I heard was Nazif’s breathing, so close to me; I swore I could hear his heart beating. Or was it mine? It took all my powers of concentration to focus on the voice mail.

  “Zan, it’s me,” said the voice.

  I gripped the phone. It was unmistakably Sage’s voice. Of course, she’d had my aunt’s businesss card. Why had she waited so long to call me? Had she been too deeply in hiding to risk making that connection? If insider police like Inspector Lale were working for Lazar’s side, they might have even wiretapped the phone. So if she was taking the chance to call me now, she must be really desperate.

  “We have to talk. I’m at Cajagoogoo. Meet me there at two o’clock today. Bring the package. Come alone.” Her voice sounded rushed, and scared. There was a weird echo in the background, and something that made me think of water spraying.

  I replayed the message three more times.

  “Is it Sage?” Nazif asked.

  “It’s definitely her voice,” I said. “I have to meet her. Before I talk to anyone at the embassy about those pictures, I have to get her story and see if there’s any chance she has the urn. Cajagoogoo. Where is that?”

  Nazif frowned. “I do not know this place. It does not even sound Turkish.” He Googled it on the computer and shook his head. “Nothing comes up.”

  “Um, by the way,” I said, as he ran a new search. “Last night, when I broke into the workshop, I didn’t want you to think that I—”

  “You did what you had to do,” said Nazif, not taking his eyes off the computer.

  “But you think it was wrong.”

  “Honestly? I think you should have called Inspector Lale as soon as you saw what was inside the room. I think you should not have gone in. But.” He shrugged. “It is done.”

  I looked down. “I want you to know something. I’m not really in the habit of doing stuff like that. Anymore. I mean—”

  “Zan!” Mom strode into the lobby. “Why are you still
hanging around here? We need those ingredients.”

  “While you are gone, I will keep researching this,” Nazif whispered, still not looking at me.

  “Thank you,” I said. My face burned as I left the hotel. Nazif seemed to like me enough to help me solve my problem, but the spark I’d felt between us was gone. And that was my fault.

  I quickly bought the food for Mom at the Arasta Bazaar, then considered going straight to the embassy. But I’d forgotten to take Nazif’s phone; the voice mail from Sage had thrown off my plan. I could go to the embassy without the phone and just tell them what I’d seen. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched. So I hurried back to the hotel with bags full of figs and apricots and other ingredients, pausing every few feet to hastily tape a flyer to fences, poles, and building sides. I swear I didn’t breathe until I was back in the hotel lobby.

  When I got back, there were more eyes staring at me in the hotel lobby. But these at least were friendly and familiar. Nils and Ingrid, and Fiona and Alice!

  They all hugged me and exclaimed over me, as if we were old friends—which I guess, in a weird way, we were. And even though only several days had passed since our cruise, so much had happened since then. The Turkish Riviera felt far, far away.

  “What are you all doing here?” I asked, handing my mom the bags of food. “Are you staying at the Mavi Konak now?”

  “Yes! Milton and Maeve raved about this place,” said Fiona. “Said it was full of historic charm, good customer service . . . and a fun activities coordinator.” She winked at me.

  “And the Swissotel has bedbugs. Awful.” Alice made a face. “They said the problem was contained, but it wasn’t—it’s in all the rooms. Thank goodness your aunt had enough space for us all and Lycian Tours could honor our transfer and refund the hotel rate difference.”

  “We hear there will be quite a party tomorrow night,” added Nils.

  I was dying to ask Nazif if he had figured out what or where Cajagoogoo was. But he was busy with the Geezers, and Mustafa was watching him closely.