The Huguenot Thief

by L. K. CLEMENT

  “I will stop it,” Sadat said soothingly. “Let’s meet, and I’ll give you all the original appraisal documents you did for me. You can burn them and erase all signs of our arrangement.” Sadat gave Adam an address on the Isle of Palms. “Meet me here in two hours.”

  Adam called Kate but only reached her voice mail. He began to leave a voice message, then reconsidered and hung up. He needed to speak with her in person. He pushed papers around on his desk, rearranged a bookshelf, and made a few phone calls, unable to sit still. Finally, he looked at his watch, strode out of the college and drove over the Ravenel Bridge to the Isle of Palms.

  Sadat was standing in the front of an old beach house on the quiet end of the island. Adam had to maneuver around a large blue commercial garbage truck parked on the street, but managed to pull close to Sadat. He lowered his window and made no move to get out of the car. “I will call the police if you don’t cancel the flight.”

  Sadat remained standing with his arms closed, his hands folded across his finely woven cotton shirt. “I understand you are upset, but please do not do anything rash. I will, of course, call off the trip.”

  He leaned down over the driver-side window and stared at Adam, his dark eyes never leaving Adam’s face. Taking a rolled up sheaf of papers out of his back pocket, he straightened. “Here are all the originals. Do what you want with them.”

  Adam could feel his pulse pounding. “I’ll do it, I’m telling you. I’ll call the police if I don’t hear from Kate that the trip is off.”

  Sadat merely nodded.

  Adam stared at the man for a long minute more, and then drove off, yearning for a muscle car with spinning wheels that would fill the man’s face with sand and put holes in his beautiful cotton shirt.

  Chapter 3

  At home, Kate threw clothes into a small suitcase, grabbing the toiletries she’d need for three days. She picked up her lithium to toss it into the bag, and then stopped. She’d take one full dose now, and take enough with her for half doses while she was in Turkey. Half doses would keep her a bit sharp, and make her more productive. She found an empty pill bottle, added a few of the hated tablets, and a sleeping pill to ensure she could sleep on the plane ride.

  In the bathroom, she studied her face. She pulled her long curly hair back in a fuzzy chignon, smoothed her thick eyebrows with clear mascara and put on lipstick. “Well, that’s better.” She had never bothered much with her looks. Jack told her once that she looked like a tall, skinny Jackie Kennedy with a perm. Good enough, she thought.

  Kate found a few websites on Cappadocia and began to download the information to her laptop as she rummaged through her desk. She finally found her passport, and flipped through the pages. All were empty, except for one page with a customs stamp from the Bahamas, a quick trip she and Jack had made when their financial situation seemed secure. She stared at the stamp for a long moment, finally tucking the passport into her purse.

  Should she call Sara? It was a certainty her daughter was still asleep—the girl could and would fall asleep at every opportunity, a trait that had made her an easy child once she outgrew her colicky infant state. No, she wouldn’t call now; she’d call when she landed in Istanbul.

  Jack could not be avoided. Feeling guilty over the relief when she got his voice mail, Kate said, “Jack, I’m going out of town for three days. The College might be leading a huge project. It’s important. Adam can tell you more. Call him when you

  can.”

  Kate paused, wondering if she should say something about their argument. No, she wouldn’t. He had been a jerk. She hung up and wrote him a note with the same general message, sticking it on the refrigerator to make sure he saw it.

  Her voice mail to Adam was just as brief. “Adam, I didn’t talk to Jack, but I left him a message that I was going away for three days. I didn’t tell him where. I’m hoping you can explain to him what the opportunity is, and why I need to go. He’ll probably be upset. See you soon.”

  A wave of panic caused a moment of immobility, and she almost called Atay to tell him she couldn’t make the trip. At the same time, she felt an excited thrumming of her thoughts, a sensation that she knew was due to the lower levels of lithium in her body.

  She looked at their small living room as if for the first time, seeing the worn white slipcovered couches, and the stacks of books on a multitude of topics that provided vertical structure as well as handy surfaces to hold glasses, plates, and newspapers. Her prized painting of a Gullah woman in a rice field was the focal point of the room, and somehow looked perfectly at home with the worn Heriz geometric carpet on the floor, the faded blues and reds of the rug a perfect counterpoint to the brilliance of the same hues in the painting. Everything is so shabby, she thought. She needed to expand her career and make more money. This project was her ticket to recognition, financial and otherwise. Maybe it would result in a book.

  She stared out of the large windows overlooking a wide front porch, part of her hoping Jack would suddenly appear. After waiting for ten minutes, she loaded her car and pulled away without looking back at the house.

  Kate called Atay using the phone he had given her, and followed his instructions to leave her car in a remote parking lot at Charleston International Airport. He picked her up at the lot, and to her surprise, drove them to a small, private airport in Summerville.

  “This one is far north enough for us to avoid the crowded Charleston airspace. Otherwise, we wouldn’t take off for a while.”

  Kate walked up a ladder into the lush interior of a private jet. “Oh my, this is swanky.” The plane’s interior was plush with navy leather seats and gold trimmings. A bathroom and a small galley kitchen lined a short corridor leading to the cockpit.

  Atay said, “I’m sorry to leave you up front here, but I have some work to finish before we land.” He decamped to the back of the plane, where there were four seats and what looked like two single beds.

  The co-pilot showed her how to operate the fixtures in the bath. “This is for your use. Dr. Atay has one in the back.”

  “Thank you,” Kate sat down and opened her laptop, determined to read the two hundred pages she had downloaded about the underground cities of Cappadocia before they landed. The takeoff was exhilarating, the sleek jet climbing at an angle that made Kate grab her armrests. Once the plane leveled off, she read for a while, finally looking up at the screen in the cabin that showed their location against a world map.

  The jet was already over the ocean. Kate looked down at the water, and then glanced back at Atay. He was asleep. She returned to her reading, mentally composing a conciliatory text message she would send to Jack when they landed. Uncomfortable with her racing thoughts, and beginning to feel a bit panicky again, this time about being encased in a long silver tube, she took the sleeping pill.

  Chapter 4

  Adam drove a convertible Miata, a two-seater sports car that was impractical, expensive to repair, and deadly in an accident. As he returned to downtown Charleston over the Ravenel Bridge, he was oblivious of the car’s faults, enjoying the April air swirling around his uncovered head. He had the windows up, mentally rehearsing what he’d tell Kate about the change in plans. She wouldn’t be going to Istanbul, and they would both examine the codices via photographs.

  At the apex of the bridge, he caught sight of a commercial garbage truck in his left hand mirror, barreling up in the lane beside him. Had he just seen this same truck at Sadat’s house? He slowed the Miata to allow the truck to pass. He looked in the mirror again, saw nothing but the blue paint of the truck and felt adrenaline flood his body as his brain registered what was going to happen. The garbage truck rammed him in a collision so forceful that Adam’s hands lifted from the steering wheel.

  The driver-side window exploded, and Adam felt sharp stings on his face. The truck continued to shove him against the concrete side of the bridge, both vehicles still moving forward. He
stomped on the brake, and the truck shot ahead. The car bumped to a halt, and Adam put his head down against the steering wheel, gasping. He felt glass in his mouth, and spit the pieces out, saliva covering his chin. Furiously brushing the jagged pieces off his lap with his left hand, he scrabbled in his pants pocket for his phone to call 911.

  The phone skittered out of his grasp, and landed on the passenger-side floor. Hands shaking, Adam tried, without success, to release his seatbelt. He heard gears shifting, and he jerked up, horrified by what he saw in the rear view mirror.

  He turned. The garbage truck was directly behind him. How had that happened? Imran Sadat was in the driver seat, hunched over the wheel, staring at him. The gaze did not break until the automated arms on the front of the truck moved down as if it were reaching for a garbage container, blocking Adam’s view. Adam heard a screeching sound and the Miata left the concrete of the bridge, pinioned in the truck’s lifting arms.

  Adam screamed as the truck lifted his car as though to dump the car’s contents in its cavernous bin. He struggled to unlock the belt, desperate to get out of the car. The truck backed up, holding the car with its nose pointed down, turned, and began to lower the arms. Adam felt and heard a massive crash as the garbage truck slammed the little convertible into the Ravenel Bridge; the car, caught between one of the supports and a light pole, canted at a downward angle like a teapot towards the Cooper River.

  He felt no pain, but Adam was stunned, unable to focus, his glasses hanging precariously from one ear. He moved slightly, his chest burning from the seatbelt digging into his chest. He fumbled with the seat belt latch again, and then saw the Cooper River through the windshield.

  “Help me; somebody help me!” A passing sailboat, miniscule as a toy, slammed the realization into his head that a fall would be fatal. “Oh God, somebody please help me!” He took a breath and yelled again, “I’m trapped! Help me; somebody help me.”

  Adam heard another crunching sound, and then felt a forward jolt, realizing that Sadat was still maneuvering the garbage truck, trying to push the car through the light pole and the bridge’s support beams. He yelled again, this one an inarticulate cry.

  He heard a shout. “Hey! What the hell are you doing?”

  The Miata dropped two feet so quickly that Adam sucked in a breath, and then let it out in a howl. The Cooper River loomed. He windmilled his arms behind the seat, seeking to find something, anything, to hold onto if the seat belt failed.

  “Help me!” Adam screamed again. He heard more shouting, and the sounds of a diesel engine revving to its full capacity. More yelling, and then the engine sound stopped.

  “Are you ok?” someone bellowed. Turning his head as far as he could to the left, Adam could see a man looking at him from the rail a few feet below the car. It was a young man, and he appeared to have a rope in his hand.

  “Someone tried to kill me. Call the police.”

  “I did,” the man yelled back, his voice barely audible above the sounds of more people shouting, and now, a sound of sirens. “He was in a garbage truck. He hijacked somebody’s car. Don’t move, man. Stay still. I’m going to try and get you out.”

  Adam wanted to tell him not to do it, to wait for the police but as he opened his mouth, only a squeaking sound came out, his mouth dry. Kate, God, he had to call Kate. “Hey,” Adam shouted. “You need to call somebody for me, now!”

  The Miata lurched and the nose fell closer to the river. Adam felt a vibrating of the chassis beneath him, and heard the shrieking sound of the exterior scraping against the huge white girder. Adam turned his head as much as he could, “Stay there! Wait for the fire department!”

  The kid yelled, “I have a rope tied to my jeep. You need to get out. Your car is falling.”

  Another screeching sound made Adam want to cover his ears with his hands like a child. Using his right hand to move the shoulder belt, he inched it down his left arm. In the left hand mirror, he watched the kid throw a rope, trying to get the rope to land on top of the trunk behind him. He let out the breath he was holding, and felt the rope hit his head.

  The kid called out, “Ok, grab the rope and tie it around you. Unhook your seat belt. If the car falls, let it slide underneath you. The rope will hold.”

  Adam grabbed the rope with his left hand, and tried to tie it around his waist. With his right hand, he began to pull at the seatbelt latch again, cursing and crying as it remained jammed. Suddenly, the seatbelt released with a snapping sound, hitting him in the face, and Adam threw both hands on the rope, breathing hard.

  “Ok,” he heard the kid say, “The Fire Department is almost. . . .”

  The last words were drowned out by a moaning sound and Adam felt the car slide beneath him. He turned his torso, his stomach on the trunk, his body stretched out along the rope as if he were Superman flying.

  He saw spectators, their arms stretched towards him like supplicants, preparing to grab him when the car fell. The car jolted again, and Adam felt a pull on his right shoe. He turned his head and saw the seatbelt attached to the Velcro of his sneaker, the belt wrapped around his foot. He shook his foot wildly, crying. Too late.

  With a violent jerk, the metal cocoon was expelled by the bridge, and with the car came the seatbelt and his foot, and with his foot, the rest of him. As the metal cage and its driver dropped towards the river, Adam was aware only of the pain from his rope-burned hands, and he cried, “Kate, I’m sorrysorrysorry!”

  Istanbul

  Chapter 5

  When the plane landed, Kate turned on her phone. No service. It was 11:00 p.m. in Charleston. She supposed that Jack would have already found the note, talked to Adam, and be sitting in the kitchen at his usual work spot, fuming. Had she told him she would be on a plane? She couldn’t remember, and this disturbed her until she began to think of the contents of the buried pages, visions of what she might find pushing out all other thoughts. Perhaps Adam had been able to calm Jack, and explain the importance of the opportunity for Kate and the College.

  The pilot guided the passengers towards a small building where a large black SUV idled, a man in the driver’s seat. “Do you know why I can’t get cell service here, Dr. Atay?”

  “Service in Turkey for phones from outside the country is very erratic. I’m sure service will be available soon. You did not bring much,” he added, taking her small bag.

  “I don’t need much for three days, especially since I’m sure we’ll work most of the time.”

  Atay looked blankly at her for a moment and then laughed. “I am used to my wife who brings her whole closet for a day at the beach.”

  Kate was shocked she was in Istanbul, when not twenty hours before she and Jack had argued about this very city. She took a few deep breaths. “Dr. Atay, may I use your phone to call my husband? I presume your phone is working.”

  The man looked at her. “I’m sorry, Dr. Strong, but remember I did not bring my own phone. Sadly, I left my temporary one in Charleston. Shall we be going?”

  Kate opened her mouth to demand a phone, and then decided not to. Atay strode out of the terminal and got into the front seat of the SUV.

  Kate climbed into the back, behind the driver. “Where exactly are we going?”

  Atay turned from the front seat and said, “The government owns many old castles on the coast, most built by Christian Crusaders almost a thousand years ago. The majority of them are nothing but piles of stone, and it would cost a fortune to restore them. We are using one that the government restored for use by agencies that want to get away from Istanbul. We’ve added laboratory facilities that will allow us to examine the parchments in privacy.”

  Kate continued, without success, to get her phone to respond, and finally put it away, listening to Atay ramble about the castle. She gazed out the window while the van traveled through the dark and quiet suburbs of Istanbul, driving an hour along a coastal road before the gr
ay massive structure appeared.

  “There it is,” said Atay.

  She gaped at the castle, imposing even in the predawn glimmer. The edifice was made of dark stone with ramparts that hugged tall, sheer cliffs. The overall impact was triangular, much like a prehistoric arrowhead. The cliffs would have a panoramic view of the sea, the ideal site for a castle. From the three round towers—one in the middle and one on each side—the crusaders would have been able to see any ship long before it was close enough to be a danger.

  When the van pulled off the main road, Kate lost sight of the castle. She sensed that the van was ascending and could see the sun beginning to rise over the sea. The van traveled for ten minutes before veering off the paved road to a dirt lane, this one more like a track than a road, quickly arriving at an open gate with a guard shack. The driver drove straight through without stopping. Kate looked back and saw two men close the gate. After passing over a pebbled driveway with massive trees drooping from each side, the vehicle stopped in front of an immense door, where a woman, presumably a servant, stood.

  Dr. Atay assisted her out of the van and strode into the castle. “Dr. Strong, this way please. You will want to see the terrace at sunrise.” He walked across a foyer, then through a huge dining room to three sets of double doors, one of which was open. The view of the Mediterranean Sea, with a few rays of the sun just beginning to show through the clouds was breathtaking.

  When Kate gazed from the floor of the terrace to the walls behind her, she could see that what she had thought was an entire castle was merely the remains of the ramparts and walls. A modern steel infrastructure had been constructed and integrated into the natural stone and granite cliffs, clutched to the breast of the castle like a kangaroo joey. Above them was one of the three towers, a dark obelisk against the sky.

  “This way, please.” Atay guided her through a long corridor, up a steep flight of stone steps, stopped, and then gestured for her to enter a room. Though the red velvet drapes were closed, Kate could make out a high bed heaped with colorful pillows. Atay’s eyes darted into the room, then back to her and her suitcase. He turned and pointed to a receiver hanging on the wall. “There is the house phone. You can call the castle operator and have someone bring you anything you may need.”