Byzantine Gold

by Chris Karlsen

  They’d been lovers long enough for Atakan to know the subtle signs of her moods. He’d memorized them early in their relationship. Looking at her now, he saw how truly different they were and wondered what had kept them together for those few months. This woman he once cared for expected him, the on-site Ministry rep., to freely discuss the delicate and somewhat controversial political issue, within earshot of team members sitting nearby. That she expected this after their time together showed how little she understood him. The realization didn’t hurt, but it disappointed. He wasn’t as easy to manipulate as she apparently thought. Nor was he so stupid as to not recognize she was motivated by some personal agenda.

  “I answered. I said I have no opinion. But, I am curious. What made you research this topic to begin with? It’s far afield from your normal subject matter.”

  “Unlike you, I have no problem being forthright,” she said behind a thin smile in a tone that challenged him to be as honest as she was. “Nassor and I were talking about this and that. We touched on the political differences here in Cyprus between the north and south. The conversation moved from the Greek influence in the south to the Turkish influence here in the north. From there it moved to the government of Turkey. He brought up the ‘Kurdish Problem.’”

  Atakan and Iskender exchanged a quick suspicious glance.

  “What is his stance on the matter?” Iskender asked casually and took a sip of tea.

  “He’d like to see a region of Turkey set aside and establishment of an independent Kurdistan.” Saska gathered her articles into a stack. “He made a reasonable argument in favor of the idea. That’s why I wanted your opinions.”

  “I don’t suppose he mentioned a reasonable solution to what happens to the Turkish people who have lived in this dispensable region for generations. What suggestion does he offer for the families who have businesses and friends and relatives there who might wind up displaced by this new country’s government?”

  “No, the discussion didn’t get into the details.”

  “Of course not,” Atakan said in a gentle tone aching to discuss with Iskender this new information about Nassor. It was a radical view held by the extreme wing of the PKK.

  Atakan had several Kurdish friends. Some worked in Istanbul in government positions and private businesses. They’d been to his home for dinner and he to theirs many times. Most of his Kurd friends worked in the tourist industry near famous archaeology sites where Atakan had been assigned. Nassor’s view wasn’t theirs.

  “I have to go,” Saska said, standing. All signs of testiness gone, she pleasantly asked, “Are you going to Ada’s later? I’d love to meet for a drink. I promise no political questions.”

  “We’ll see you there.”

  “What an odd conversation for Nassor to have with Saska,” Iskender said after she left.

  “Especially for an Egyptian, I can understand it if he was Iraqi or Iranian, considering their Kurdish settlements.”

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Iskender asked.

  Atakan nodded. He knew what was going through Iskender’s mind because it was going through his.

  “While he’s on his afternoon dive let’s go through his things. I’m almost positive he slipped and used Kurmanji in the lab one day. Charlotte has always maintained he didn’t talk like an archaeologist. We need to find out who this guy really is. He’s not Nassor Jafari.

  “Come, we need to find Charlotte,” Atakan said.

  They found Charlotte in the women’s quarters getting ready for her afternoon dive.

  “Charlotte,” Atakan called and politely stood to the side of the screen door in case she wasn’t alone.

  She came out with her backpack ready to meet the shuttle to the Suraya. “Hi, what’s up?” she asked, smiling at him and Iskender.

  Atakan took her backpack and walked her to an area where they wouldn’t be overheard. “We need your help.”

  “Okay.”

  “Take an extra bottle of water with you. When you’re finished with your dive, offer the extra bottle to Nassor.”

  “Sure, but we all drink like fish after diving. He’s probably bringing his own bottle.”

  “Give him your extra bottle first. Handle it by the screw top. When he’s done, smile and take the empty from him and store it in your backpack.”

  Her eyes widened in sudden understanding. “Oh, you want his prints. Interesting.”

  She leaned in and asked in a low conspiratorial voice, “You’re worried he isn’t who he says he is?”

  “Yes, but more important, I’m worried about what he is.”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Charlotte lay on her cot, reading and killing time before her afternoon dive. Atakan and Iskender had gone off to lift Nassor’s prints from the bottle she gave them. Her cell rang just as she started to doze off. She sat up, set the book to the side, and grabbed her phone from the dresser next to the bed.

  “Casey, what the hell is going on?”

  She jerked the phone from her ear, then tentatively brought it back. “Hi Nick, how are you? I’m fine. Thank you for asking—”

  “Yeah, yeah, forget the hellos. I want to know what the hell is up with you.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about, and stop yelling.”

  “I got a letter from a museum asking questions about you. They said you listed me as a reference for a job. Did you and Atakan break up?”

  “No.”

  “Then, why the job change?”

  “I need to leave here. I’m not sure for how long and I have to work. I applied to six museums I thought I’d like to work for.”

  “What do you mean you need to leave?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “You can’t tell me?”

  “Trust me, it’s not something I want to do, but it’s necessary.”

  She expected and got Nick’s heavy, impatient sigh. It was his I hate the games woman play sigh.

  “What does Atakan have to say about all this?”

  “He doesn’t know, yet.”

  “You’re shitting me.”

  “No. I’ll only tell him if I get a job offer. Otherwise, he doesn’t need to know.”

  “You gotta tell him. I’m serious Case. You can’t keep this from him. If you get an offer, what are you going to do? Just pack up and leave...tell him...see you, I’ll be back sometime. That’s wrong.”

  “I can’t. He’ll want to know why, and I can’t say why.”

  “You owe him an explanation. He deserves better from you.”

  Nick wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t know, hadn’t agonized over time and time again. Yes, Atakan would see this as an awful betrayal. But once the business with Tischenko was settled, she’d return. She’d explain she did what she had to for his sake. She’d still keep his mother’s request out of it. Once she returned, she didn’t need to fan the flames of Nuray’s dislike of her by ratting her out to Atakan.

  “Casey? Are you there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Talk to me, there’s nothing you can’t tell me. What’s behind this nonsense?”

  “I told you. I can’t say.”

  “God damn it, what am I supposed to do knowing what you’re planning? Atakan and I are friends. You’ve put me in a terrible position. He’d expect me to tell him the truth. I’d expect the same from him if the positions were reversed. What do I do? Betray you or him?”

  “I’m sorry. It’s not my intention to ruin your friendship or to hurt Atakan.”

  “I love you, you know that, but I think what you’re doing is inexcusable. I’ll give you twenty-four hours. Tell him or I will.” Nick hung up.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Twenty-four hours.

  Charlotte sat quiet for a long moment letting Nick’s threat sink in, her mind a dull blank seeing no way around the situation. Damn Nick, damn Nuray, and damn Tischenko. Damn them all.

  She set the phone back on the dresser and dug out her iPod from a
drawer. She scrolled through her playlists to the one with sad songs, nothing but sad songs—Bocelli’s Con Te Partiro, Delerium’s Silence, Il Divo’s Nights in White Satin. She thumbed down: Against All Odds, Drive, Gold Dust Woman, Broken Wings, and of course, Bowie’s haunting Space Oddity. She spun through the entire list of the songs. It was her longest playlist. She’d put it together when Atakan was in the hospital. She didn’t realize it at the time, but except for Il Divo, Delerium, and Bocelli, all the artists were from her mother’s generation. Funny, why was that?

  Turning to Tu Quieres Volver, she put the ear buds in, lay down and hit play. She hummed to the opening music and whispered the English translation of the lyrics...Tu Quieres Volver...You want to return.

  #

  The nap she was about to enjoy when Nick called eluded her. A brief respite for her busy mind would’ve been nice. This wasn’t her day to catch a lucky break. When she was halfway through the playlist, she checked her watch. Time to report for the afternoon dive. She put the iPod away, splashed cold water on her face, brushed her teeth and hair, and headed for the shuttle.

  She glanced around for Atakan before she boarded the idling shuttle. He exited Refik’s office just as she dropped her backpack on the bench and stepped inside. He called out to her, smiling and waving. She waved back, wondering when or if she’d see that warm smile again.

  Onboard the Suraya, Refik asked Charlotte if she and Nassor wanted the AGA masks.

  “No thanks, let Talat and Rachel take them.”

  Refik looked surprised when she turned down the offer. She normally sought permission to use them. She normally liked having the ability to speak to Nassor as they worked. Today, she didn’t want to talk, not just to Nassor, but to anyone.

  As soon as they reached the seabed, a small, covered plastic box was lowered from the surface. The box would secure the coins they gathered.

  Sparkle greeted them at the wreck. She’d been busy gathering some of the coins for her personal treasure. The tiny stack sat atop shards of colored glass that had been aboard the ship.

  Charlotte smiled and fluttered her fingers answering the octopus’s tentacle hello. Then, Nassor moved quickly in front of her and threw a small net over the animal. He tied the end off and began to attach the net to his utility belt.

  Surprise turned to anger. She ripped the net from Nassor’s hands and untied it. The task took longer than she liked. Blackish ink spurted from Sparkle, shrouding the water around the octopus. The defensive ink obscured Charlotte’s vision of the animal and the rope trap and she had to work by feel. The panicked Sparkle writhed and thrashed against the strings, her tentacles catching the tips of Charlotte’s fingers as she tried to loosen the net.

  Nassor clamped onto her wrists, fighting to regain control of his prize. Charlotte jerked free and swam several meters away, finally freeing Sparkle, who rapidly shot toward a dark crevice in a pile of rocks to hide.

  The fight over Sparkle was silly and she knew it. Octopus was a common dish, served in restaurants from America to Japan. But Charlotte couldn’t bear the thought of the little treasure hunter being clubbed to death on some fishmonger’s table. The odds were one day, probably in the not too distant future, Sparkle would be caught by a fisherman and sold at market.

  But not today.

  Charlotte stuck the net into her belt and swam back to Nassor. Anger radiated through his mask. He hated her and she didn’t care. She hated herself for what she was going to do to Atakan. Nassor’s hate couldn’t compare.

  Charlotte lost it and shoved Nassor hard in the chest. He took a wavering step backward, flailing in the water. He recovered fast, fist clenched.

  Adrenaline ripped through her. She took a step forward, well within his reach. Her mood was dark enough, ugly enough, that she welcomed the confrontation. As suddenly as he’d clenched to hit her, his fingers relaxed. He turned and knelt on the sea floor and began picking up coins.

  Charlotte’s chest still heaved from the rush the potential fight produced. She forced herself to calm down and then joined the son of a bitch on the seabed.

  The gold solidi were the easiest to see and they gathered those first. Nassor filled his palm and dumped the coins into the plastic box without examining a single one. Charlotte thought it odd since he’d always gravitated to any gold relics. He may not be interested in the coins, but she was. Gold didn’t corrupt in saltwater. The images on the coins and the coins themselves were in excellent condition.

  She held two she’d retrieved closer to the light the previous team had setup. One solidus had the image of a solo male, seated on what appeared to be a throne with a halo hammered on it. She thought the halo indicated the man was Christ but she wasn’t sure. She turned it over looking for an inscription with a date but couldn’t see one.

  The second solidus held better prospects for dating. On the face were the busts of two men, one bearded, one beardless but both wore crowns. The bearded man wore a jeweled loros and held a Patriarchal Cross. Emperors in the period commonly wore the long scarf on festive occasions—like the minting of coins. Dynastic egos were always evident in history. The beardless male wore a traditional one-shouldered, short chlamys.

  Romanus I Lecapanus, who crowned his sons, came to mind. If it was Romanus I, they’d be able to put close to an exact date the ship wrecked. Narrow the date and the team might be able to discover the originating port and destination. Identifying the ship from records of the time gave them a better idea what happened—why it wrecked.

  Cheered with the possibility, Charlotte forgot the trouble with Nassor. She dropped the coins into the box and sifted the sand with her fingers searching for more coins. She found a few blackened coins. The obverse side had been nearly rubbed away. She couldn’t make out what the cast images were or the metal used. Not knowledgeable on metallurgy, if she had to guess, she’d say they might’ve been a combination of silver and copper. Her sifting turned up a handful more of gold coins that weren’t solidi. The principal design showed a man in Arab robes, a sword at his feet. The back was covered in Arabic script.

  Charlotte sat back on her heels. Did the combination of coins lend additional evidence to Atakan’s theory about pirates using a stolen Dromon ship?

  She and Nassor filled the box halfway with coins and then surfaced. Neither spoke to each other about the incident with Sparkle or anything else. They sat at different ends of the shuttle on the return to camp where they went their separate ways.

  #

  Charlotte’s worries regarding telling Atakan the truth and the negative dive with Nassor pressed on her mind. Tired to the bone, she headed for the women’s dorm to drop her backpack. From there, she couldn’t wait to shower. Maybe standing under the hot water would clear her head and she’d know how to approach Atakan.

  She was almost at the dorm when the cook’s truck came to a quick stop next to her. Atakan was behind the wheel. He leaned across the cab of the truck and flung open the passenger door.

  “Get in.”

  “Now? I wanted to take a shower. How about I meet you in twenty minutes?”

  “Get in,” he said, flatly.

  Charlotte tossed her backpack in the truck bed and climbed into the passenger seat. He pulled away before she had the door completely closed.

  “Where are we going?” she asked, shutting the door.

  Atakan didn’t answer as he sped out of camp, spraying dirt and stones behind them.

  “What’s going on? Why are you in such a hurry?”

  He stared straight ahead, silent.

  “Atakan?”

  Tight-jawed, he continued down the side road that paralleled the beach, ramming the stick shift into place as he went through the gears and ignoring her questions. She’d never seen him this tense, not with her at least. A bad feeling crept over her. She had a sick sense his mood involved her plan to leave.

  They’d gone a kilometer from the camp when he came to a stop. He hopped out, slammed the driver’s door shut and came to he
r side.

  Opening her door, he said, “Get out.”

  She did.

  “Atakan,” she started to ask the same questions again, but he was already turned and walking toward the sea.

  She followed. He finally stopped near the water’s edge with his back to the surf and faced her. She stopped a couple of yards away.

  “When were you going to tell me?”

  She knew exactly what he was asking about. Who told him? It wasn’t Nick. He’d honor the twenty-four hour rule.

  “Who told you?”

  “That’s not an answer.” He stood still as a statue, arms crossed, feet apart.

  She hesitated, trying to choose her words so he’d understand and not be hurt. She gazed out at the incoming tide. The blue-green waves, effervescent with bubbles, rushed toward shore in rapid succession. White foam droplets filled the air as they crested, framing him like a new, angry version of Poseidon.

  “Answer me.”

  “Today.”

  “You weren’t going to tell me until today, although you’ve been planning to leave me for awhile.”

  “Not awhile.”

  “Long enough to send job inquiries to several museums.”

  So that was how he knew. One of the museums contacted MIAR and they must’ve sent the questionnaire to Refik and he told Atakan. She hadn’t considered the possibility. She’d thought any contact from the museums would be handled by MIAR’s headquarters.

  “I’m so sorry you had to find out this way. I intended to tell you if it looked like I’d definitely leave. If none of the museums showed interest, then you never had to know what I’d done.”

  “And you believe that is acceptable?”

  It killed her to see the look of disgust on his face with the question. “Yes...” she said low.

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m bad luck for you—everyone can see it, even your--, it’s obvious. There’s something about me, and God knows, I don’t know what, but I’m like a magnet for Tischenko.”

  She never cried and she wouldn’t cry now, but she was close. “I can’t bear to see you hurt again, or worse. There are people that bad luck follows, even Iskender thinks so.”