Byzantine Gold

by Chris Karlsen

  A waiter passed by carrying a tray with bowls of fruit to replenish those on the tables. Atakan stopped him. One large container held pomegranates, a favorite of both he and Charlotte. All looked ripe.

  “Hold this please,” he said and handed Charlotte the metal case with his gun inside. He wouldn’t risk leaving his weapon unattended for any length of time.

  He picked through the bowl and chose the three with the most vibrant dark red skin. In his free hand, the one not encumbered by the sling, he then tested the weight of each. He selected the heaviest and paid the waiter while Charlotte placed the other two in the bowl. She exchanged the gun case for the fruit and started to sit at an empty, nearby umbrella table.

  “No, no,” Atakan said. “Come.”

  “Were not having drinks and the pomegranate here?”

  “No.”

  He fished out the key to the same room they had before.

  “I have a surprise for you,” he said and opened the door.

  “Are we staying here tonight?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m surprised they had a space available.”

  “It’s ours for the next three months. I figured if you got laid often, you wouldn’t worry about Saska.” Atakan stepped inside and set the case down.

  Charlotte closed and locked the door behind him. “Laid often and well—starting now.” Putting the pomegranate on the dresser, she tugged his shirt from his slacks.

  Atakan grimaced as he removed the sling and straightened his arm out, flexing it a couple of times.

  Charlotte rested her hands on his waist. Arousal spiked through him at the casual intimacy. She gave him time to work his sore arm using the repetitive moves the therapist taught him. He hated the physical therapy. His arm ached for hours afterward. But, he diligently exercised his shoulder and arm. Although he hated the recuperation process, he liked his therapist. Atakan paid for the man to come from Istanbul to Cyprus and continue working with him.

  “How’s the therapy?”

  “I’m happy with my progress and so is the therapist. I can forgo the sling at the end of the week.”

  “Is the pain subsiding at all?”

  Atakan leaned in and kissed her neck. “There’s still some pain, but that doesn’t mean you should stop undressing me.”

  She worked fast, careful of his injury. Less effort was needed to get him out of his lightweight cargo pants and underwear. Without the sling to hamper him, Atakan had her clothes off much quicker.

  He turned her so her back was to him. He gently removed the rubber band from her ponytail and ran his fingers through her hair. He pushed the loosened locks to one side, kissing her nape as he did. A shiver traveled the length of her spine as he drew his knuckle down to the small of her back. He bent and kissed the dimples that dotted the top of her buttocks. Her swift intake of air delighted him. Fingers tightening on her hips, cradling them, he fought the urge to take her then. To have her hold hard to the bed posts while he sank himself deep inside her like an animal in the field.

  Instead, he straightened and reached for the bed. A cotton bedspread of dark blue patterned with red and white sailboats covered the queen-sized bed. Atakan peeled the spread away. He preferred making love on clean sheets. He’d seen a disturbing American television show where the crew visited different hotels. They used a black light on the comforters in the guestrooms which turned dried bodily fluids fluorescent blue or purple. Their disgusting findings leaped into his head occasionally. Today was one.

  “Sit.” He patted the edge of the mattress. She did as he asked. “Now stretch out on your side like a nude in a Renaissance painting.”

  “Or a harem girl?”

  “Either serves my purpose.”

  Charlotte lay with her head propped on her fist. She kept one leg up and bent. She held his gaze, smiling as she angled her leg just far enough to the side to give Atakan the full furry view he liked.

  During their visit to Chicago the previous Christmas, she had a Brazilian administered upon her private area. He was appalled when she stepped from the bathroom and discarded her robe to show him. Many women denuded themselves. He knew it was a popular practice, but he never thought Charlotte would do such a thing.

  “I do not like this barren landscape. Natural is good. How fast can you grow it back?” he’d asked, thankful his raging hard-on wasn’t affected by the unwomanish sight.

  “Do you want it all back? I can have my ‘landscape’ trimmed and shaped so there’s still a narrow patch, like a band-aid size rectangle.”

  “Ugh, you’d make a topiary of your...your—”

  “My bush, yes.”

  “No. No rectangles, no diamond patterns, no stripes, leave— ‘my bush,’ she’d supplied again, “leave it fluffy.”

  Charlotte giggled as he teased the hair she displayed so invitingly with the back of his fingers. “Come,” she said, tugging on his hands, trying to pull him on top of her.

  He resisted. He had other plans starting with the pomegranate. The cottages all had tiny kitchenettes equipped with cutlery. He found a sharp knife and quartered the fruit. Its tart juice squirting as he cut. It dripped from the blade and ran over his fingers. When he finished, he brought two sections with him and lay next to her on the bed. He rubbed the wet fingertips of one hand over her parted lips, staining her mouth red.

  She licked each lip slowly then said, “More.”

  He plucked several of the ruby beads from the bitter membrane. One by one, he held them close to her mouth and popped them between his fingers. Again, she licked the colorful flecks from her lips.

  “Eat,” he said, offering her the piece on his palm.

  She dragged the quarter between her lips and then took a small bite, letting the juice trickle down to her chin. Atakan dipped his head and licked the liquid drop that formed at the corner of her lips. She took another bite, throwing her head back as he ran his tongue along the seam of her mouth. The fruits winey scent filled his nose. She tasted decadent, an exotic blend of sweet and tart.

  He raised his head and shifted to lay sideways, his weight on the elbow of his uninjured side. He gathered the fleshiest arils and sprinkled them into the hollow of her throat, over her breasts, and then trailed them down to her abdomen. The rest of the section he tossed away along with the quarter she held.

  He laced his fingers through hers. He started at her collarbone, his kisses turning to tiny nips that always made her crazy. She wriggled beneath him attempting to spread her legs but he trapped them between his. He sucked the seeds from the hollow of her throat. He traveled down, teasing her skin as he nibbled the seeds that nestled along the curve of her breasts. She arched and her hips rose to press hard against his when he moved to circle her nipples with his tongue.

  “Atakan—“

  “Shh.”

  Releasing her, his hands slid to the sweep of her hips. He swirled his tongue around and inside her belly button. He brushed his lips across her abdomen, stroking her hip bones with his thumbs as he did. Her sun baked skin warmed his lips.

  He shifted so his legs no longer trapped her as his moved to her thighs. She jumped and sighed when he sucked her inner thighs. He pushed her legs up, opening her most intimate place wide to him. He licked slowly, then darted his tongue into that wonderfully wet spot already slick for him.

  “Atakan,” she said, in a tortured plea.

  She jerked as he darted faster. She wrapped her hand around his wrist. “No more foreplay.”

  He rose to his knees and slid his hands under her hips, pulling her to the edge of the bed as he moved to a standing position. He raised her legs so her calves rested on the top of his shoulders.

  “Can we do this without hurting your shoulder?”

  “I told you it’s getting better.” He looked down at her. “Much better.”

  This was a favorite position of hers, she requested it often enough before he was shot. She said it reminded her of Roman orgy scenes in movies. He teased her again with hi
s fingers, sliding them in and out before driving fully into her.

  They went two rounds. His shoulder hurt a little after they finished gladiator sex as Charlotte referred to it. She insisted on giving his shoulder a rest and climbed on top. Either way, it was all good.

  “I’m surprised the family in the next room didn’t pound on the door to complain.”

  “Probably still at the beach. I saw them leave earlier when I came to rent the room,” Atakan said.

  While they were busy, he couldn’t care less that the wrought iron headboard banged repeatedly against the wall. Now, even while they were simply lying together, it bumped the wall every time one of them shifted. Annoyed, he asked her to give him a hand and they dragged the bed several inches away from the wall.

  They lay on the bed, quiet, sweating, and warm. The air conditioner hummed, the fan stirring the air without cooling it. Atakan gazed around at the room painted a dirty pink dreading he had to tell Charlotte the latest news on Tischenko. If he didn’t tell her, and she found out, she’d be livid. And, no doubt in his mind, she’d find out. The more a man wants to keep something from a woman the greater the odds she’ll discover the truth. She also had a right to know.

  “Iskender arrives tomorrow,” he said in a matter-of-fact voice.

  Charlotte rolled onto her side and propped herself up on her elbow. “So soon? That’s great. It’ll be a relief knowing you have another body here to help.”

  His chest tickled where her fingers played with the hair.

  “There’s a reason for bringing him here so fast.”

  Her fingers stilled. “Oh. Why?”

  By her suspicious tone, he figured she guessed the answer.

  “Nothing is confirmed--”

  “What?”

  “Our representative at the Ephesus site thought he might, I stress might, have spotted Tischenko on the street in Kusadasi.”

  “Why didn’t he arrest him?”

  “He intended to, again I stress, if it was Tischenko. He followed while he called the authorities but lost him in a row of sidewalk cafes. They were crowded with tourists inside and out. The police came fast. They searched but couldn’t locate him again.”

  “He only followed him? He should’ve stopped him and taken him into custody.”

  “I am armed by special permission as is Iskender when he arrives. The agent had no weapon and Tischenko always does. Our man required backup, as you call it.”

  “How the hell did Tischenko get into the country?”

  “If he’s in the area, he’s probably hiding on a boat offshore.”

  “Short boat trip to Cyprus,” Charlotte said, sighing.

  “The Director and I agree he’s not headed here. If that was his intent, he’d be in the area already. Why he’d stop in Kusadasi is a mystery.”

  “You can’t eliminate a trip to Cyprus either.”

  “No. Iskender is coming, in case we’re wrong.”

  “What are your thoughts on his next move since he keeps doing the unpredictable?”

  “He’ll wait for me to return to Istanbul.”

  Charlotte went into the bathroom and ran the water. She returned a moment later, drying her face with a towel and sat on the edge of the bed. Her bangs and the hair around her cheeks were damp from their love-making and where she’d splashed water on her face. She set the towel aside and stared straight ahead. She looked drained and defeated. He wondered if he was wrong to mention the Kusadasi incident.

  “Charlotte, worrying won’t change anything.”

  “I know, but I can’t help it. Part of me hates the unknown, the idea of him waiting out there, somewhere for you, and wants this over. The other part of me fears that, because it can only end with one of you dead.”

  He pulled her down and held her against his chest.

  “This will end soon enough and with his death,” he said with more confidence than he felt. He spared her his doubts. He stood a fair chance of succeeding. But in truth, the odds favored Tischenko. Atakan could only react, operate from a defensive position. More often than not, it was the losing position.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Charlotte commandeered two of the AGA masks from Refik. She didn’t mention she wanted them to keep better track of Nassor. He took her advice well the day before and paid more attention as they prepared for their dive. If he was going to screw up, she worried it would be underwater, the worst possible place to go airheaded on her. At least with the masks, she could communicate with him. If Nassor wandered away again, she’d rat him out to Refik. She made sure Nassor understood the consequences of a repeat incident.

  Saska joined Charlotte on the bow of the Suraya while she and Nassor waited their turn to dive.

  “You and Atakan disappeared fast after dinner last night. I wanted to invite you both for a drink at the local resort.”

  “Maybe tonight. Atakan has a Ministry associate arriving today and the four of us can go,” Charlotte suggested.

  Saska waved her index finger back and forth. “You conveniently haven’t said where you vanished to. I’m curious.”

  “Why?”

  “I guessed the two of you wanted to be alone. Camp is like Grand Central and he’s such a straight-arrow, I can’t picture him agreeing to a public tryst.”

  Charlotte considered what, if anything, to tell her. Their business was no one else’s, especially Saska’s. Then again, if she knew Charlotte and Atakan retained a special place for privacy, she’d realize the relationship was serious. But would she print that information in a story?

  “We booked a bungalow for the summer. However, our personal relationship isn’t for public consumption and not to be included in your article. I’m certain if it was, Atakan and the Ministry would disapprove. As you know, the Ministry must agree to your presence on any future excavation here or in Turkey.”

  “Understood.”

  “Is this rental at Ada’s?” asked Nassor, who listened to the conversation.

  “Yes. Why?”

  “Just wondered.”

  “That reminds me, why didn’t you say hi to us yesterday? We saw you drinking at one of the tables.”

  “I didn’t see you.”

  “Really? Huh,” was all Charlotte said. According to Atakan, Nassor definitely saw them. Nassor had told Refik he wanted to go for a walk. He must think he’ll get into trouble for going to Ada’s instead and is lying to avoid a problem. “You know it’s all right to go places on your off time.”

  “I’m glad. On my last site, we were not permitted the opportunity.”

  “What a drag,” Charlotte said.

  The previous team surfaced and they moved to the dive platform.

  “Ready, Major Tom?” Nassor asked and saluted her.

  Nassor was teasing her. Who knew he had a sense of humor?

  “Ready yes, but I don’t want to be Tom.”

  “Is he not the man you sang about?”

  “Yes, but the dude died in space.” ‘Your circuit’s dead, something’s wrong.’ The lyric popped into her head.

  Charlotte stepped several feet away from Nassor. “Testing, testing, one, two, three, do you copy Nassor?” she asked, using the VOX circuit.

  He nodded.

  She blew out a breathy, phew. “Let’s go,” she said and jumped off the platform.

  Rachel, Talat, Derek, and another Brit, Ben, worked with hand-held, underwater dredges to clear more sand from the wreck’s bow. Charlotte and Nassor would photograph the newly uncovered sections of hull.

  With the removal of silt from their gridded area, Charlotte was excited to point out and discuss interesting construction features. The majority of the keel and starboard planking survived, although not intact. They lay, she guessed in the same position as when the ship sank. Smaller sections of wood, too short to serve as strakes were piled behind the bow spur.

  “I bet these are part of the raised deck for the archers and spearmen.” She knelt on the seafloor for close-up views.

  Na
ssor lit the area. “Doesn’t seem like much space for the men to make an effective attack,” he said, adjusting the lamp for the best angle without Charlotte instructing him.

  “There’s more. When we excavate the main mast area you’ll see what’s left of the central tower or wooden castle. We’ll find remnants of the bolt-firing catapults and large flame throwers.”

  “What do you think that is?” He turned the light on a thick chunk of wood.

  “Hard to say, but it may be a syphonopho-rami, a light flame-thrower. Mean weapons for hurtling Greek fire.”

  “I like the concept,” Nassor said and swung the light back to Charlotte’s location.

  She waved for him to follow her to where a group of amphoras lay scattered, walking carefully among the planks. She snapped more photos then knelt again and zoomed in on a group of amphoras with Arabic writing inscribed on the bodies.

  “For this type of vessel, these are a surprise. MIAR approximated the date of this ship as tenth century. Arab pirates menaced the region with raids during the period. I wonder if the Dromon’s crew took them from an Arab ship they encountered.”

  She examined the pitch seal on the larger amphora and the seals on a couple more nearby. “The seals are intact. Good.”

  “When do we get to excavate the gold cargo?”

  “Not for awhile. We have to finish the photography and tagging of the artifacts first.”

  She heard him grunt and the light moved out of position. She glanced up and found Nassor focused on the gold relics he’d wandered off to the day before.

  “Nassor, pay attention.”

  “Sorry.” He moved the light back to where she worked.

  She didn’t understand his lack of enthusiasm for the contents of the amphoras. His fascination with the rich artifacts was understandable...to a degree. Ornate pieces of gold or the beautifully crafted embellished relics always drew a lot of attention. However, he seemed overly enthralled. Charlotte thought as an Egyptian archaeologist, Nassor dealt with many similar artifacts.