Lochum had to swallow his argument. “The Hagia Sophia would be quite appreciated, Sergeant.”
“Lopez, you heard the man. The Church of Wisdom.”
Everyone was thrown back as Lopez laid down rubber skidding out of the parking space. Lochum did not know what had happened in the warehouse, but it certainly seemed to invigorate them all.
Which was quite good. For what he planned would take all their skill, whether they wanted to give it or not.
* * *
Rebecca found it odd that they were all sitting at the rooftop café of the Blue Hotel, having a seemingly carefree brunch. The place was crammed with both locals and tourists. A couple from Sweden pored over a map of the city, while a large family from The Philippines tried to ask directions to the Royal Palace from their waitress. Excitement filled the air as everyone made plans for their day under the warm Istanbul sun.
With all the men’s injuries, her group certainly never could have passed for casual tourists, so Davidson had gotten creative with their covers. He transformed his team of commandos into a heavy metal band, sightseeing before their gig tonight. At first she had been skeptical about the idea. These guys looked nothing like a band, until she saw the result.
Rebecca grinned as she realized Brandt could pull off heavy eyeliner as well as he did a leather skirt. His black eye was covered by makeup, but his split lip had been accentuated by lip liner. He proudly wore a bloody bandage over his thigh where the knife wound was, but given the rest of his apparel it just looked like part of his wardrobe.
There could be no doubt in anyone’s mind. He was the lead guitarist.
Clearly Svengurd was the band’s bassist, dressed in a black T-shirt and jeans that contrasted nicely with his spiked, stark blond hair. Lopez was the archetypical drummer. He had that energy about him that spelled an early death. Davidson was the perfect geeky keyboardist.
Much to Lochum’s consternation, Rebecca had been transformed into their Gothlike lead singer. Given the fact she almost never wore makeup, the three layers of mascara and black lipstick felt awkward, but when Rebecca looked in the mirror, she had to agree that she was ready for the stage.
Given how beat-up they looked, a hungover, road-weary metal band turned out to be the perfect cover. Sure they attracted more attention in their flashy garb, but strangely people actually paid them less heed. Before, when they made their way to the hotel as a collection of five men and one woman, people would give them second and even third looks trying to figure out the dynamic. Were the men gay, and she their beard bride? Was Lochum the father? You could see the questions in their eyes.
Now, however, passersby surveyed them, realized they were a band, and then moved on without another thought. Rebecca had never really understood the concept of hiding in plain sight before, since most of what she sought had been diligently hidden, but now she got it.
The professor was the only holdout. He refused to don any clothing that might be considered hip, but didn’t every band need an uptight manager? To this Lochum filled his role perfectly in his button-down Etro shirt and perfectly pleated slacks.
When Brandt laid out his plan to complete some reconnaissance before entering the Hagia Sophia, the professor had thrown a tantrum loud enough to impress a hypoglycemic five-year-old, but once the food arrived he quietly indulged in a slice of pistachio baklava.
The other men had ordered heartier courses. Brandt dove into a serving of lahmajan, a type of lamb potpie. Davidson had gone heavy into the sweets. Name the pastry, and the private sucked them down. Right now he slathered sour cherry preserves over an already heavily sweetened Turkish almond cookie.
But Lopez and Svengurd were going head-to-head for the gluttony award. Between them was a pile of dishes heaped with Turkish specialties. Soujouk sausage with shredded potatoes filled one platter, while another was piled high with manti, a type of beef-stuffed pasta. The third held over a dozen skewers of chicken kabobs. The last plate seemed to have a combination of all the meats along with all the breads and all the spices they had seen down in the Bazaar. This one appeared to be the favorite.
“This food rocks,” Lopez slurred between bites. “Two thumbs up.”
The other men heartily agreed as they shoved in another mouthful. She shook her head and went back to her own acma bread. Nearly a croissant, the acma pastry had a heavier, muskier flavor which she wasn’t too fond of, but the kashkaval cheese more than made up for any taste deficit. This cheese had been made from sheep’s milk, then aged ninety days to pure perfection. Served with cinnamon salep, a light tea drizzled with honey, this was the best breakfast she’d had in months.
But for all their pigging out, this group had a distinctly ulterior motive for visiting the Blue Motel’s rooftop restaurant in particular. It was the only building in Istanbul that could claim to be over four stories high and have a direct view of the front gates to the Hagia Sophia. Brandt had insisted on recon before entering the historical site, and when Lopez had suggested the restaurant, all the other men had hopped aboard the idea.
Rebecca had not been so sure. She had gotten used to the cramped cars and dark back alleys. To sit out in the open at a dainty, linen-covered table surrounded by hanging baskets of snowdrop flowers now seemed terribly wrong. Where were the guns, flying knives, and RPGs? Even the friendly chatter from the surrounding tables heightened her anxiety.
But no one else seemed to notice. Anyone glancing at them would never suspect they were casing the church. The Hagia Sophia wasn’t a single church, but a vast complex that dwarfed anything in Budapest. The main sanctuary had been built of a deep red brick that contrasted starkly with the silver dome. It seemed as if the earth and heaven collided right across the street.
Between huge bites, Lopez read from his guide, and their conversation sounded like the other tourists. Only Rebecca knew the subtext.
“Hey, did you guys know this place started out as a church, then was converted into a mosque?”
“Yes,” Lochum said with disdain. Apparently he didn’t understand that the corporal was bringing the rest of the men up to speed. Or maybe the professor did as he continued, “Originally built by Emperor Constantine on the site of a much older church that was lost to history. It was the seat of his holy power until the Ottomans invaded in 1453, and Mehmed the Conqueror converted the structure into a mosque.”
Davidson pointed to the four whitewashed minarets that thrust into the sky at each corner of the church. “That would explain those spires. Looks like they’ve got a bird’s-eye view of the entire grounds. Bitching.”
Rebecca noted the look that passed between the guitarist and his keyboardist. In truth, Brandt and Davidson were worried that those tall, thin spires were perfect snipers’ dens.
“I’d love to get a closer look at those. I hear they’ve got spiral staircases that go all the way up to the parapet,” Davidson added.
The sergeant went back to slathering tahini butter on a chunk of Turkish flatbread as he answered, “Sounds like a plan.”
Davidson winked at Rebecca. “You know how I love heights.”
So that was that. The private would set up in the one of the minarets.
Lopez swallowed hard and had to take a sip before he added, “This dome was the world’s largest, second only to the Greek Pantheon. And according to this we’re supposed to pay special attention to the windows.”
They all craned their necks to view the church’s massive dome. It seemed impossibly huge especially since it appeared to be suspended in midair by a row of stained glass windows. But architectural design wasn’t Lopez’s interest when he brought up the unique panes. She had hung around the men long enough to know those were considered possible entry points.
“There’s no way that glass can bear the weight of that roof!” Davidson exclaimed.
“Naw, they’ve got some wigged-out arcs doing all the work.”
Lochum sighed. “Those ‘wigged out arcs’ are called pendentives, and they are a brilliant
architectural achievement. Four opposing arches distribute the weight down from the dome into the foundation of the church, making it seem as if the dome floats between them. In actuality there are two smaller half-domes or exedras on the western and eastern—”
“Yeah, sure,” Lopez said as he flipped the pages of the book. He seemed rude, but Rebecca knew he had filled his intent, to tell Brandt they could blow a window and the dome wouldn’t come down, and was ready to move on. “Anyway, the place is now a museum and get this, it’s got a shitload of crypts, man. Hundreds of them!”
Lochum seemed to understand the glance that passed between drummer and guitarist, for he shook his head. “While I am sure you boys would like to crawl around searching for all manner of ghoulish finds, I believe we should enlighten our minds first. The second floor has a series of ancient mosaics. Many are said to depict Jesus, the Baptist, and the Virgin’s life. I know how actual history bores you, but I must insist.”
Brandt glanced at Rebecca, and she nodded. The professor and Rebecca had been in and out of the Hagia Sophia more times than she could count, mainly down in the very crypts that Lopez mentioned, but armed with the bone’s verses, the mosaics were now of importance. Any detail such as the one from the Torah could hold the answer to Jesus’ resting place.
“All right, then. Let’s go rock Istanbul,” Brandt announced as he threw his napkin onto his empty plate and signaled for the check.
“Wait. Aren’t we going to get dessert?” Davidson squeaked.
* * *
Brandt checked his corners as they approached the museum, but his gaze kept wandering toward the church. With its bricks made of an almost surreal red, how could anyone not look?
“Eighth wonder of the world, is right,” Lopez mumbled as they walked up to the ticket booth.
The silver dome eclipsed all else, but that didn’t mean the two smaller domes weren’t worthy of notice. And the minarets thrust higher even than the central dome. Massive was the word that came to mind if he had to describe the structure.
Lopez read from his tourist book. “Back when the Hagia Sophia was the center of the Christian world, hundreds of clergy lived inside these walls.”
That felt about right. The church would have been larger than most villages or even towns of the time.
Brandt held back and let Lochum do the band manager thing and pay for the six of them. Davidson had peeled off from the team about a block away to head for one of the minarets. Despite posing as a band, they did not deviate from standard operating procedures. Svengurd took the tickets and led the way through the main gates. Once inside, they passed by the two smaller domes, which no longer looked small at all. As a matter of fact, this close you couldn’t even make out the apex of the central dome—it just seemed a never-ending series of silver tiles climbing into the sky.
Svengurd entered the massive bronze gate, but Lochum stopped them.
“Do you always rush past history so quickly?”
Brandt stepped forward. “Is there something wrong?”
“Only that you are about to walk through an entrance built for emperors. Did you not look up?”
Lochum’s tone grated, but Brandt had learned that the professor only used that authoritative voice when he was right, so the sergeant looked up.
Above the gates, tiny flecks of brown, red, and green somehow created a stunning mosaic of Jesus, Mary, and the Archangel Gabriel.
Brandt stepped over the threshold, but felt a pang of guilt. To him, Jesus was divine, and to assist Lochum in proving otherwise cut across his grain. Under any other circumstances, he would make the professor someone else’s problem, but then there was Rebecca, who at the moment seemed equally tentative to enter the church. The smoky eye-liner made her blue eyes sparkle. Damn, but she looked good in goth.
“Everything okay?”
Instead of an answer, she gave a shake of her head.
Rebecca hadn’t been this reluctant to walk into the ambush back at the Bazaar. Sometimes it was easy to forget she was a civilian, or more importantly a woman. And as a man, he wanted to comfort her, but as a sergeant he should tell her to cowboy up. His duty lay between them. Then he realized. What lead guitarist and lead vocalist didn’t have a relationship?
Using their cover story to the fullest, Brandt laid an arm over her shoulder. “Everything’s going to be fine.”
Midnight-black mascara ran at the corner of her eye. “Promise?”
He pulled her tighter into his embrace. “Promise.”
Keeping his arm around her, they walked into the vaulted interior of the Hagia Sophia. No travel guide could prepare him for the sight. The dome climbed so high above their heads that it really did make it seem like the ceiling floated above them.
And the light? The brilliant row of stained glass windows allowed in exactly the right amount of illumination. This was the texture of heaven. Everything glowed, wrapping its warm hue around visitors. But the longer tourists stared upward, the more they realized the dome was inscribed in Arabic.
Rebecca’s voice was intimate in his ear. “From the Ottoman conquerors after they converted the church into a mosque.”
The Hagia Sophia’s exterior certainly suggested the blending of the two religions, but inside they melted into one another. Christ above the gate and Mohammed’s words on the ceiling. It seemed strangely appropriate.
Everywhere one looked, there were arches upon arches giving the vast space a sense of the ephemeral. Truly it seemed that God could, in fact, fit himself into a place of worship this large.
Svengurd climbed up on a large dais.
“Hey, this is the Coronation Square,” Lopez stated.
“Yes, yes, that is where the Byzantine Emperors were crowned,” Lochum acknowledged, then hurried them forward. “Now the second floor, if you would, please.”
Svengurd headed toward a gently sloping ramp. But before Brandt could follow, a glint of gold caught his eye. Tucked away in a small corner of the church was the nave. It wasn’t as grand as everything else they had seen, but it was all the more impressive for it.
Glittering candlesticks added radiance to the small enclosure. The red candles twinkled, playfully illuminating the stained glass windows behind the pulpit. The space was so intimate that it felt as if the nave had been built for personal worship. Brandt’s instinct was to drop to his knees and pray, which he might have if Lopez hadn’t appeared at the doorway.
“I’m going to hit the restroom.”
For a moment, he wondered why the corporal would announce something like that, then remembered that this bathroom excursion was integral to their plan. Lopez really announced that he was going to fetch their getaway vehicle.
The sergeant nodded. “If you gotta go, go.”
Rebecca gave him an odd look as he joined the rest of the team, but Brandt waved off her concern. The nave had given him exactly what he needed. A reminder of God’s love.
CHAPTER 22
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Hagia Sophia, Istanbul
Rebecca followed Svengurd and the professor up the sweeping ramp, feeling more than a little overwhelmed. The Hagia Sophia was enormous. It could take weeks or years to research the place properly.
But you couldn’t tell that by the way Lochum vibrated with excitement. If you looked at him you’d think they were within moments of overturning Jesus’ bones.
“Come, come. Look at the players in this mosaic. Remind you of anything?” The professor pointed to the mural that portrayed Christ in the center with John the Baptist on the left and the Virgin Mary on the right.
Careful not to slip on the slick marble floor, Rebecca stepped closer and studied the life-size painting. The Baptist and the Virgin both had their heads inclined toward Jesus, who stood in the traditional Greek Orthodox manner. He held a large box in his hands. She tried to read the inscription on the blue and gold container, but the image was damaged. The entire bottom half of the mural was destroyed, an
d whatever John or Mary were holding was also obscured.
“What happened to it?” Svengurd asked from over her shoulder.
Surprisingly, it was Brandt who answered. “When the Turks took over Constantinople, they plastered over the Christian images, since they are forbidden by Islamic law.”
Obviously not wishing the sergeant to overshadow his influence, Lochum waved away Brandt’s words. “True, true, but the Turks also carefully removed the plaster at regular intervals to retouch the work before covering it again. Most of this artwork is in better shape for being so protected. No, this damage was done intentionally. Look at the lettering above John.”
Above each of the figures were several words painted in ancient Greek. They were not so much scripture as just identification of the divine person beneath, but several of the letters were out of context.
Lochum pulled out the pages of their transcription from James’ bone. He pointed to the lettering from the wall.They matched. They made no sense, but they matched.
“Coincidence? I think not.”
As the professor scribbled away, Rebecca studied the partial image of the box in Jesus’ hands. By tradition, Christ usually held a lamb, or a child, or even the Torah, but a box? She couldn’t remember another other major work that had him holding a container. Especially in Greek Orthodox art, where Jesus invariably had one hand up and the other over his heart.
“This is a tourist spot, right?” Svengurd asked.
Brandt answered, “Yeah.”
“Then where are all the tourists?”
She could feel the tension in the soldiers, but she wasn’t worried.
Stepping closer to the mosaic, Rebecca craned her neck as Lochum answered the soldier’s concern. “The huddling masses come in waves during Muslim prayer times.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Brandt retorted.
“It does when the Blue Mosque directly across the street does not allow tourists inside during prayer hour, so when the Mosque is finally open to the public, it drains the Hagia Sophia of its travelers.”
The Betrayed Series: Ultimate Omnibus Collection Page 29