Blue Voyage

by Diana Renn

  At a sign that read VOYAGER BALLOONS, we veered onto a long dirt road that threaded through scrub brush and mesas. Chalky dust rose up in a cloud around us. We ran up a hill, and saw the launching area spread out at our feet. It was crowded with Voyager Balloons vans, and giant fans inflating hot-air balloons—about twenty of them, I guessed.

  “Let’s go,” I said, and Sage and I hurried down the other side of the hill. Employees wearing blue windbreakers that read VOYAGER BALLOONS on the back rushed around setting things up. The balloons and the baskets lay on their sides, making me think of beached jellyfish, huge swaths of colorful material lying on the chalky ground, rustling in the soft breeze.

  “Name for the reservation?” said a man, coming up to us with a clipboard.

  “Hotel Mavi Konak,” I said confidently.

  He looked at the clipboard.

  “I’m sure we’re on there,” I said. “We won the raffle?”

  “Ah. Yes.” He looked down at his clipboard and frowned. “But these passengers have already checked in.”

  “Those are my grandparents,” I said. “We’re flying together. We just came in separate cars.”

  I held my breath, waiting for the man to accuse me of lying or tell me to get lost.

  The man scribbled a note on the clipboard and then pointed with his pen to a red-and-white-striped balloon. “Balloon number twelve. Launch is soon. You are just in time.”

  We hurried over to the Lobsters’ balloon, as all the inflating balloons around us bobbed and rippled and swelled. Giant fans swept cold air into them. There was heat, too, as fuel jets pumped flames. Pilots tested the equipment.

  We pushed through billowing balloon fabric until we stumbled out into the air again and found ourselves looking right at balloon number twelve, which was almost entirely inflated now. The Lobsters were standing beside it, looking excited for their ride.

  Then, as the fabric of the balloon rippled, I caught sight of another couple. Judy was backing away. Judy and Ron. Judy was pulling Ron by the arm toward another balloon, looking as though she did not want to be noticed by the Lobsters.

  “That’s them!” cried Sage, pointing. “Let’s go!”

  “Wait a second.” I pulled her behind an inflating yellow balloon so we wouldn’t be visible. “Let’s see what they’re up to first.”

  Peering around the yellow balloon, I saw that the Clarksons were lugging five medium-sized bags with them, and a square box, as they hurried toward another balloon some distance away.

  “Do you think those bags and the box are filled with stolen artifacts?” asked Sage, following my gaze. “Could the seahorse urn be in one of them?”

  “Maybe,” I replied. Where would those things end up if we let them get out of the country? Lost to Turkey. Lost to history.

  Ron got into the wicker basket on a blue-and-white balloon. Judy started handing him the bags. He took them gently and set them down inside the basket. When she handed him the box, the lid fell off. The intense rays of the morning sun caught something inside, making it glint.

  I nudged Sage. “I think that’s the urn! Look how fast Judy’s putting the lid back on. We have to call Inspector Lale!”

  “On what phone?” Sage displayed empty hands. “Anyway, she’ll never get here in time. Their balloon is more than halfway full. They’ll be in the air in a few moments.”

  Already some of the other balloons at the launch site were filled and slowly rising up.

  Then Judy took a teal Longchamp tote bag out of another bag, unfolded it, placed the box inside it, and zipped it up. She handed the bag to Ron.

  I sucked in my breath sharply. “A bag switch,” I guessed, “in case anyone saw the urn in a different bag. And so many women have those tote bags, probably no one would look twice at it.”

  After the basket was loaded with their bags and packages, a pilot got into the wicker basket with Ron and tested some of the jets. I watched the flames shoot up. “I wonder how far these things can travel, anyway?” I said.

  “Far enough with a little extra boost, I bet.” Sage pointed to another employee, who was now fastening extra fuel cylinders to the outside of the basket.

  At that moment, Judy turned around as she got into the basket. The balloon was almost completely inflated. As she did, a wind caught the yellow balloon we were hiding behind, and moved it enough for us to be seen.

  Judy gaped at us. Then she elbowed Ron, who turned and looked at us, too, shock registering on his face.

  “Now or never,” I said. “Let’s go find out what they’re traveling with.”

  We sprinted past the Lobsters’ balloon and waved at them, smiling at their astonished faces as we moved on to the Clarksons’ balloon.

  “Nice day for ballooning,” I called out to the Clarksons.

  “Nice day to be alive,” Sage added with a wicked grin.

  Ron muttered something to Judy, which we couldn’t hear because of the roar of the fans and fuel tanks all around us.

  “I don’t think you girls belong here,” Judy called out to us.

  “Oh, we do,” I said, pointing at the Lobsters, who now noticed the Clarksons and looked shocked to see us all together. “Milton and Maeve won the hotel’s raffle. We thought we’d join them. Unless you’d like some company?”

  “Looks like you have plenty of room for us,” said Sage. She stepped up to the basket and looked inside. “Wow. You’ve sure got a lot of luggage for a day trip.”

  “Step back,” said the pilot, his voice sharp. “This is a private flight.”

  “Really?” I challenged him. “This is one of those baskets that holds up to sixteen people. You’re really going to take it up with just two? And these bags?”

  “I am calling security,” said the pilot, taking a cell phone from his pocket.

  “Good! Do that!” said Sage. “Tell them who these people really are! Tell them—“

  “Run along, girls,” Judy interrupted, her face clouding over. “You’re just in the way.”

  “Are you really going to treat us so rudely? With Milton and Maeve over there watching?” Sage gestured to the Lobsters, who were squinting in our direction. “I’m sure they heard all about the poisoning and the abduction.”

  I turned toward Milton and Maeve’s balloon. “Call the police!” I shouted, pointing to the Clarksons.

  Milton cupped his ear, not quite hearing me. I swore under my breath and pantomimed dialing a phone, hoping he’d get the idea.

  “We just want one thing,” I said, turning back to the Clarksons. “Give us the urn.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Judy.

  As the balloon inflated behind the Clarksons, my emotions fired up, full-on. I didn’t like being talked to like that by yet another person I’d trusted. “You’re the real reason my uncle, Berk Yilmaz, is dead,” I said. “His life’s work was all about recovering artifacts that Turkey was losing. I’m going to finish his job. Give me back the urn.”

  Suddenly, two security guards were on either side of Sage and me. One grabbed Sage. The other lunged for me. I dodged his grasp.

  Oh my God. This was all going wrong! We were going to get kicked out of here, and the Clarksons were going to escape with their loot!

  Now their balloon was nearly full, and the basket was tipping upward, straining at the tethers that kept it anchored.

  The other security guard held my arm and tried to steer me away. “Please, you have to help us!” I cried out. “We’re trying to stop a crime. These people are stealing ancient artifacts. They’re robbing your country. You can’t let this balloon fly!”

  “We must ask you to leave the launch area at once,” said the grim-faced security guard. “You are not authorized to be here.”

  “Call the Ürgüp police station,” said Sage. “Tell them Ron and Judy Clarkson are here!”
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br />   The balloon basket slowly started to rise, as did the other balloons all around us. A ground crew started untying the ropes that anchored the Clarksons’ balloon.

  “Bye, now!” Judy called down to me as the security guards marched us away.

  Rage boiled inside me. Berk couldn’t be dead while the Clarksons escaped with the urn. My uncle’s work, his life, could not be for nothing.

  In a twist maneuver I sometimes used on a rock wall to reach for a distant handhold, I yanked free of the security guard’s grasp and ran. I jumped up and grabbed for a handle on the bottom of the Clarksons’ basket. Then I clambered over the side and into the basket, and we rose into the air.

  47

  “Get down!” shouted the pilot.

  I grabbed the side of the basket tighter, refusing to go anywhere.

  “We’re not that high up yet. You can go back over the side and jump down safely,” Ron urged me. He almost sounded like the kind father figure I’d met on the Gulet Anilar. He even held out a hand as if to help me. But I knew better.

  “Oh, now you’re concerned about my safety?” I said, glaring at him. “After poisoning me? That’s so considerate of you.”

  “That was my wife’s idea,” said Ron. “Really, I think you should get down now, while you still can.”

  “Don’t pin this all on me, Ron,” snapped Judy. “We agreed this was the only way.”

  I looked over the edge of the basket. Everyone was getting smaller; I couldn’t even see Sage anymore. Then the balloon began to drift over the hills and mesas, rising above the landscape I couldn’t possibly appreciate now.

  I dropped down to the floor of the basket and grabbed one of the weekender bags, the one that was covering up the teal Longchamp bag. The bag was heavy, as if it were full of rocks, and hard. “I’m guessing this isn’t clothes,” I said.

  Judy shoved me aside. “These are our personal belongings.” She made a grab for the bag, but I held fast to the handles.

  “The police will catch up with you eventually,” I said. “There was a raid at Lazar’s headquarters. You know, the headquarters in the cave city, where Sage and I were sealed up and left for dead? After you poisoned us?”

  Judy gave me a long look. I met her gaze. This time I didn’t see kindness in her eyes, but dark intentions, laced with fear. She took a deep breath. “You have no idea how much is at stake here,” she said. “How much Ron and I have gone through to get these items. To save them. And you know something? I never fail. I have no intention of failing now.”

  “And your little scheme of getting someone to call the police won’t help,” Ron added, the warmth in his voice now completely gone. “We have no record. We’re upstanding American citizens. And we won’t be caught with anything because these artifacts will be safely transferred to their next destination. Now hand over the bag.”

  I coiled the straps around my wrists and backed away, out of Ron’s reach. Judy grabbed for the bag, and I dodged her too, grateful for the huge size of the basket that allowed for this complicated dance while I tried to figure out what to do next. “So how long do you plan to hide out with this stolen stuff in Bulgaria?” I asked.

  Ron and Judy looked at each other, then burst into laughter.

  “Oh my goodness. You think we’re flying out of the country in a hot-air balloon?” said Judy. “To Bulgaria?”

  Ron roared with laughter, and even the pilot smirked.

  “That’s very fanciful,” said Judy. “Very imaginative thinking. Bulgaria is a nearby country, but not anywhere near here. Don’t they teach geography in school these days? No. We’re going to a drop point. We have a client of our own who’s expecting these.”

  “A nice gentleman from Dubai,” Ron added. “We made a better deal. We drop, the client collects, we get our money wired, we’re gone, and—”

  Judy kicked at his shin, and he pressed his lips together.

  “So then where does this balloon end up?” I asked, looking down at the fairy chimneys and the mesas for signs of the chase vehicles that typically followed balloon rides. I couldn’t see it, so maybe they hadn’t left yet. All the balloons were drifting in the same direction, blown by the soft wind, but our pilot kept working the burners, catching air currents and climbing higher.

  Judy smirked. “Oh, we’ll get to the drop area with the others, but we’ll take our sweet time. After we transfer the goods, we’ll land, and the police will surely be interested in knowing why you illegally boarded our balloon, violating all safety regulations, let alone not paying for the ride. Especially since you’re a bit of a celebrity yourself, Alexandra Glazer,” she added, giving me a meaningful look.

  I felt dizzy, and not from the swaying basket. She knew who I was. A quick Google search had no doubt revealed all my family dirt, and now she would use it against me.

  But I didn’t care if the media portrayed me in a negative light. My world had been reduced to the size of this wicker basket, and I was inches away from the Karun Treasure urn. I just had to get it before the drop. But get it and do what with it?

  “So your buyer is waiting for you down there?” I asked, scanning the landscape again. Could I jump into a tree? But the landscape was practically lunar—there were barely any trees.

  “Actually, our buyer’s associates,” said Ron. “They work with our friendly pilot here.”

  The pilot tipped his cap at me and grinned, not kindly.

  “I adore this balloon company,” said Judy. “They really are the best. Great service. Except they’re a bit lax on security. Maybe we should offload you, too. What do you think, Ron?”

  “Probably not necessary,” said Ron. “The police can do their job when we return.”

  “Oh, you big baby,” said Judy. “You just don’t want to do any dirty work, do you.” She rolled her eyes at the pilot. “You see what I have to put up with?”

  “Why don’t you just give up the urn,” I said. “And maybe whatever else you bought, too. You can do something great for this country by keeping all these things here.”

  Judy snorted. “When Turkey gets its act together and has enough museums and decent security, we’ll be more than happy to give everything back—for a fee, of course. But until then, we’re traveling in a country that doesn’t preserve its history. We work with clients who will appreciate these objects. And if we happen to make some money from that, how can we be faulted?”

  I scanned the sky around us. Most of the other balloons from our launch were ahead of us, though a few were still nearby, making splashes of color against the stark landscape. We were now slightly lower than all the others, however, and losing altitude rapidly.

  I looked down again, then realized the balloon was now approaching a high mesa with a narrow, flat top. We’d be passing over it in just a minute, I guessed, and we were close enough that if I climbed out of the basket, I could drop down. Close enough so I could heave the Longchamp tote with the urn inside it over the side of the basket. It wasn’t such a big drop, so hopefully nothing would break.

  While the pilot adjusted the jets on the fuel tanks, I dropped the weekender bag onto the floor of the basket. Ron and Judy both lunged for it. As they did, I took a duffel bag from the luggage pile and tossed it over the side. The handles on the Longchamp tote were plainly visible now, and the corners of the box inside could be viewed through the fabric. I grabbed that bag and held on tight.

  “Ron!” squawked Judy. “Stop her!”

  Ron grabbed me by the arm, but I squirmed out of his grasp and hurled the tote out of the basket. It landed right on the edge of the mesa. Now both Ron and Judy gripped my arms, trying to bring me down to the floor, while the pilot worked the jets furiously to raise the balloon. I wrenched free of their grasp once again and leaped to the other end of the basket, where I flung one leg over the side. And jumped.

  I hit the ground, hard, just barely making it to
the top of the mesa. My hands scrabbled at dirt and rocks to keep from going over the side. I was a few yards away from the first duffel bag I’d thrown out of the basket. I ran to it and tore it open. Inside were plastic bags filled with jewelry and old coins. No wonder it had been so heavy! I scanned the top of the mesa for the Longchamp bag, and spotted it about ten feet away, lying on its side in the shadow of a boulder. I ran to it and unzipped it. I forced the square box out. I tore off the lid.

  Inside was the urn, its seahorse handles and acorn lid intact. And though I’m sure their mouths had always curled up at the ends, I swear the seahorses seemed to be smiling. I looked up at the brilliant blue sky, dotted with balloons, including the one with the Clarksons that the wind was now pushing away. I put the urn back in the bag, sat on the edge of the mesa, and slid down the slope. Already I could hear sirens wailing in the distance, the most welcome sound to my ears.

  48

  We spent another week recovering at the cave hotel, as the questions at the police station were suddenly more complicated. Mom sucked it up and called Dad, and he helped get Sage a good lawyer through the embassy in Turkey. It looked like potential charges against her for her involvement with the smuggling ring would be dropped, and she’d be sent back to Oregon, not to prison. After all, Sage had convinced the Voyager Balloons security staff to call Inspector Lale. She’d done so in time for the police to chase the Clarksons’ balloon and intercept it when it finally ran out of fuel. She’d cooperated fully with the police investigation. And we’d both worked to bring down the masterminds behind Turkey’s biggest antiquities smuggling ring.

  No surprise, I was in the news again, thanks to the video that a balloon passenger had recorded of my scuffle with the Clarksons and my leap out of the basket onto the mesa. The video was shared everywhere. I even got emails from some of my former friends, wanting to know all the details. I didn’t write back right away. It was nice to have the attention again, but I’d have to take a little time to sort out whom I actually wanted in my life. And I realized I’d come full circle, from the Athleta incident to something that people said was “heroic.” I had to admit it felt pretty good, even though I hadn’t set out to be heroic. My uncle had done most of the work before me. I’d just finished the job.