Byzantine Gold

by Chris Karlsen

  “You are telling me, you will leave soon.”

  He nodded. “I plan to go tomorrow.”

  Rana looked crushed. She shouldn’t care. He never needed close attachments, now least of all. For reasons he couldn’t explain, he wanted to believe the look on her face was sincere. Maksym vacillated whether to stick with the timeline he planned or make an exception.

  Atakan’s death could wait a short time more.

  “But, I am staying a bit longer, for you.”

  “Take me with you.”

  “No.”

  He’d left her sulking among the rumpled sheets. Her sexual enthusiasm tired him. Afterward, he’d just wanted to shower and relax on the top deck listening to music.

  That was a week ago.

  “I’ve a surprise.” Maksym slapped Rana on the butt and then walked naked into the guest cabin. He returned with his arms full of bags from the Charisma Hotel, a five-star resort on the water.

  “While I remain here, I want you to wear these when you visit me,” he said, setting the bags on the foot of the bed.

  Rana squealed as she opened each and laid the clothes out, touching and stroking the outfits as though they were made of gold.

  “I guessed at your size.” Lighting a Gitanes, he inhaled deep and blew the smoke out slow. As he did, he tried to recall the scent of the pungent French cigarettes he enjoyed. He’d lost his sense of smell gradually over the last few months. His sense of taste had begun to fail immediately after. He mourned the loss of both.

  “I thought you’d get arrested if the police saw you. Yet, you went shopping.”

  “The hotel’s boutique staff sent an employee to the boat. She brought different pieces with her.”

  “Maksym, this is too much. You are so kind to me, there must be thousands of Euros worth of clothing.”

  “It’s only money.”

  On her previous visits, he’d observed how careful she was with her clothes. She’d fold them neatly and place them on a chair or make sure they were straight when she hung them up. All were cheap and poorly made. But seeing how she handled them, he suspected they were her nicest things. She wore them for her visits with him. He wanted to see her dressed in the expensive outfits the women in the luxury hotels wore. Hotels Rana, who grew up in Kusadasi, had never seen the inside of and probably never would.

  Rana crawled off the side of the bed leaving the new clothes undisturbed. She wrapped her arms around his neck and clung, kissing him and mumbling thank you.

  “Please take me with you,” she begged again. “We’ll sail away from Turkey, away from the danger to you. One of the Greek Islands perhaps, Mykonos or Santorini, some place we can move free.”

  Over her shoulder, Maksym smiled. A fleeting pang of bitterness shot through him. He didn’t have the heart to tell her he couldn’t go to those places either without fear of eventual arrest. By elaborate means with a fake passport, he’d managed to enter France from Latvia, a major risk for him. Kusadasi was a bigger one. He’d rolled the dice twice and got lucky. But one sharp-eyed EU Interpol agent on vacation in Mykonos or Santorini and his luck would end. A chance he could ill afford to take. He still needed a very lucky third roll to get to Atakan.

  “I’m sorry. Lovely as it is, your dream can never be. I have an old score to settle elsewhere. I waited years to exact my revenge and you cannot be there.”

  Rana leaned back and made pouty lips at him. “Revenge is an evil thing.”

  “But exquisite when enacted right.”

  “I am a good thing. See.” She dropped to her knees, taking him in her mouth.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Atakan let Charlotte take his laptop to the women’s dorm while he and Iskender changed into their B.D.U.’s. They decided to drive straight to the military base after scouting the hills surrounding the camp.

  Charlotte speed-read the file. Like Atakan told her, the basic report was information known to her. She hoped to learn what follow-up investigation they planned, which the file didn’t cover. However, a supplemental attachment listed the trail of different IP addresses Tischenko used to route through. She debated whether to ask Atakan if the Ministry intended to delve deeper into the IP’s. Maybe they’d get a fix on his location. She hurried and wrote them down. She’d ask about the continuing investigation but keep the list in case she needed Nick’s sources.

  “Done,” she said and handed Atakan the laptop as he and Iskender were coming out of the men’s quarters. He had a hand-held laser rangefinder attached to his utility belt and Iskender carried the cool gun microvault Atakan showed her.

  “No one’s in there. Will you put the computer back in the case and store it under my bunk?” he asked Charlotte.

  “Sure.”

  “See you in a few hours,” Atakan said and kissed her goodbye.

  #

  Saska came into the women’s quarters as Charlotte prepared for the afternoon dive.

  “I had a pleasant conversation with your partner,” Saska said.

  “The fact you had a conversation at all with the taciturn Nassor is interesting, in and of itself.”

  “You suggested I do so.”

  “True, although I wasn’t sure you’d get much.”

  “It took some coaxing, but he finally relaxed and we talked.”

  “Good.”

  “He spoke of his home. He sounded so sad. I think he’s lonely and misses it.”

  An archaeological season is often limited due to climate. They spend months away from home getting as much accomplished as possible in the short time frame. Of the two excavations, she knew he worked, the Alexandria Harbor project kept him home but the Red Sea shipwreck didn’t. He volunteered for this one. Why, if he knew he’d be horribly homesick? Charlotte’s curiosity about Nassor was limited. The homesick comment pricked it enough for her to question why he shared his feelings with Saska. She suspected his motive.

  “Granted, I’ve only discussed the wreck with him and nothing personal,” she said to Saska. “But, from what you’re saying, I wonder if he’s not playing you.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Is it? Think about it. He submitted his credentials and applied to work this site...far from home and he knew it. We tried to be friendly with him and got the cold shoulder. Now, with your coaxing and sympathetic ear, he’s Mr. Receptive. Poor me, I’m so homesick and lonely. He’s playing you.”

  “You forget, as a journalist, part of my talent is getting people to open up to me and I’m good at my job.”

  “Apparently,” Charlotte acknowledged, although deep down she still felt Nassor saw her as an easy sexual mark. None of the females on the team gave him a second look. Other than their few attempts at casual conversation, or in her case, dive related issues, the women ignored him. Saska went out of her way to connect with him. Who knows how he interpreted her actions?

  “He asked me about Atakan,” Saska said.

  Charlotte’s radar shifted into overdrive. “Oh? What’d he want to know?”

  “Same thing I did. Why is he armed and was it standard for Ministry agents.”

  “I suppose you told him it wasn’t.”

  “I told him the truth. It isn’t.”

  “He ask anything else?”

  Saska sat on Charlotte’s bed next to the backpack, scrutinizing her as she said, “He commented on Iskender’s arrival and why he and Atakan left wearing camouflage B.D.U.’s.”

  From her expression, Charlotte wondered whether Saska wasn’t the real source of the question rather than Nassor.

  “If he’s so curious, he should ask Atakan himself.”

  “If I asked you, I imagine you’d say, you don’t know. But if you had to venture a guess, why do you think?”

  Charlotte zipped the backpack closed and slung it onto her shoulder. “Is this an example of your talent for getting people to open up?”

  “No, I know you wouldn’t fall for me ingratiating myself. This is me being terribly curious. So, what’s your
guess?”

  “Don’t have one. Their reasons are their own.”

  “You leave me no choice. I’ll ask Atakan and Iskender myself.”

  “Good luck with that,” Charlotte said and left.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Atakan locked the gun vault in the truck. He and Iskender walked the flat strip of land bordering the stretch of beach between camp and Ada’s. Only patches of wild grass grew in the sandy soil. They’d discussed the potential for problems and neither man thought the area a viable location for Tischenko to operate.

  “It isn’t workable for him,” Atakan said, “Too busy. There’s no place to hide.”

  Tourists lined the beach and kids played ball and chased one another the length of the grassy area all the way to the resort.

  Iskender nodded. “Too many tourists on the beach on the far side of camp too, but we should check the other way, just in case.”

  They turned and started in the opposite direction.

  “How far?” Iskender asked.

  “Four hundred meters, that’s half way to the hotel down the road.”

  At the end of the short distance, Iskender said, “Nice,” tipping his head toward two women sunbathing in miniscule bikinis. The bikinis were no bigger than three travel-size tissues attached to the women by ties as thin as fine twine.

  Both men stopped to appreciate the view.

  One of the women untied and removed her top. She slowly rubbed suntan oil over her stomach and breasts and then said something to the other woman. Her friend sat up and the first woman handed her the bottle. The second woman poured the oil out and rubbed her hands together covering her palms with the liquid. With long strokes, she spread it from her friend’s shoulders to the top of her buttocks.

  The first one turned and looked their way.

  “We should go,” Atakan said, half-heartedly.

  “Yeah,” Iskender said, eyes fixed on the woman’s breasts.

  Neither man moved.

  “Think they’re staying at Ada’s?” Iskender asked.

  “Maybe.”

  “I’m going there for a beer tonight. If the ladies are guests, I may offer my services as guide.”

  Atakan laughed, not really sure if Iskender was joking. “Guide to what? The island, or Iskender—because you’ve never been to Cyprus, you don’t know the sites any better than them.”

  “I’ll buy a book for the island. As for the sites on Iskender...”

  “Unfortunately, there’s the irksome business of Tischenko.”

  Iskender’s gaze shifted and locked on the second woman who removed her top to rub oil over her breasts. “Hmm, Tischenko.” He sighed. “I hated him before and hate him more now. No time to play with visiting beauties while he’s out and about. I hope the Ministry appreciates my sacrifice.”

  “They don’t, but I do. Come on, duty calls.”

  The women waved at them.

  They waved back. Atakan caught himself grinning like an idiot.

  “Good bye, my glistening lovelies,” Iskender said in a sorrowful voice.

  #

  Atakan drove from camp to the nearby two-lane highway. Most of the side roads adjoining the highway were dirt and riddled with potholes. Only those leading to tourist attractions were paved and maintained.

  On the other side of the highway, were low, scrub-covered hills. Behind the rocky ground lay farmland with fields of wheat, orchards, and vineyards.

  He took the closest road with a direct line of sight on the camp. He parked and locked the truck on a flat patch and they hiked along the slight rise in both directions.

  Atakan stopped several times at spots he believed offered Tischenko the best visual advantage. He used a laser rangefinder to sight in on the most vulnerable locations in the camp. In a data book, they marked the landmarks they measured from. The GVS-5 rangefinder supplied by the Ministry automatically adjusted for the vertical angle when determining range to target. Iskender fed that data into a handheld computer. Later they’d enter the information into a threat system simulation and scenario software program for analysis.

  While Iskender input the information, Atakan checked another possible place Tischenko might use. It was a crevice between two rock outcroppings and beneath a balding cypress tree. The tree offered sparse shade but some was better than nothing if you were a person lying in wait for a long period.

  “Look at this.” Kneeling, Atakan examined the filter remains of a cigarette butt, one of many dropped by the rocks. “I can’t make out the brand,” he said, sniffing the butt. “Stinks like a Gitanes. Tischenko smokes the foul things.”

  Atakan took new readings on the rangefinder and Iskender fed them into the computer.

  “Anywhere along this rise, Tischenko has a problem,” Iskender said. “The wind, temperature, and humidity will affect the velocity and strike of the bullet. Do you think he’s capable of making an adjustment for weather conditions?”

  “I doubt it. He’s not trained as a sniper. He’s also limited,” Atakan said, putting the rangefinder away. “This high ground doesn’t give him the elevation he needs for an ample view of camp. Entrances to the buildings on the north and east are blocked. The gate, Refik’s office, and the shuttle dock are the weak spots. He’d need extraordinary patience to catch me at the right moment when I’d be in any of those exact places.”

  “You spend the majority of the day in the office.”

  “I’ll relocate and vary my routine daily. We can monitor this area from the lab if the flaps are pinned up. The office is more comfortable, and I prefer going through my physical therapy in private.” He gave a single shoulder shrug, resigned to adjusting. “Neither comfort nor privacy is crucial.”

  “You’re in the open and vulnerable walking to the resort. If he watches your routine first, he’ll see you visit Ada’s regularly,” Iskender said, verbalizing what was going through Atakan’s mind.

  “I either remain confined to camp or use alternate routes.”

  “Refik will let you use the truck. Charlotte and I can switch off as drivers.”

  “No. I don’t want her anywhere near me as I go to and from the resort. I’ll go on foot or you can drop me off. Afterward, you can bring Charlotte in the truck. You drive. I trust you to spot anything amiss and take precautionary action.”

  “Once you’re at the patio area, you’ve got cover as long as you avoid the promenade tables. The bungalow isn’t safe.”

  “I know. I’ll give it up,” Atakan said. He regretted disappointing Charlotte. She’d wanted a romantic vacation before the project started and chose Paris. Tischenko ruined the trip. With the limitations Salamis Bay offered, the bungalow was the best arrangement available until he took her back to Paris. Now, this small compensation was ruined.

  Atakan studied the low hills then turned and eyed the pleasure boats anchored nearby. “Make your move, you bastard.”

  “You sound ready for the range.”

  “Very ready.”

  They climbed into the truck, Atakan at the wheel. Anger, frustration, and worry bore down on him. He pressed on the gas pedal and the tires spun in place for a few seconds seeking traction. Loose dirt and stones sprayed out behind the truck before the tires finally grabbed.

  Atakan gave the hills one last look. “Let’s end this.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Why didn’t you wait for us?” Charlotte asked, stepping inside the bungalow.

  Alarmed at seeing she was alone, Atakan asked, “Iskender accompanied you, didn’t he?” He moved past her and onto the small balcony.

  “Yes, he’s here. If you’re looking for him, he stopped at a table with two attractive women. He said it was destiny they meet, whatever that means.”

  Iskender waved to Atakan and then turned a bright smile and his attention back to the women with him, the two ladies they’d seen earlier sunbathing.

  Atakan came inside and locked the door. “Iskender hopes to stretch the powers of fate through wishful thinking
.” He gestured to the bouquets of flowers on the dresser and nightstand. “I thought you’d like these.”

  “They’re beautiful.” She kissed him. “Thank you.”

  Charlotte smelled the large bunch on the dresser. The bright mix of pink Stargazer lilies and pink roses interspersed with bells of Ireland greenery wouldn’t last long in the summer heat. “When did you buy them? I thought you were at the range all afternoon.”

  “We were but I stopped at the flower market in Famagusta on the way back.”

  “You still didn’t answer my question. Why didn’t we come here together?”

  “I wanted to set up the room with my surprises, like the flowers and something else.” Atakan went into the bathroom and returned with a bottle of champagne in metal bucket of ice and two plastic flutes. “It’s not your favorite, but it’s the best the village had.”

  “The brand isn’t important. I’m drinking with my favorite person in the world, which is what matters.”

  Atakan popped the cork and filled the flutes.

  “What’s the special occasion?” she asked, taking a sip.

  “There isn’t one. I thought this made for a nice change.” He wasn’t ready to tell her the occasion wasn’t special in a good way.

  “Champagne and flowers, it’s very romantic of you.”

  “You think me incapable of being romantic?”

  Charlotte opened her mouth, paused for a split second, smiled, and said, “Never crossed my mind.”

  They were in bed before finishing the first glass. They made love slowly. He’d deliberately stretched each erotic, teasing touch into delightful shared torment. Afterward they lay hot, sticky, and sweaty, the fan on the broken air-conditioner stirring warm air. Charlotte brought over the bucket with the champagne and topped off their glasses.

  She pulled out a cube of ice and ran it over her face and down her neck and between her breasts.

  “Do me,” Atakan said.

  She used the same cube. He sighed when she ran it over his face and neck and moaned when she ran it around his belly button.

  She moved farther down and held the melting cube over his testicles. “Yes?”