“I disagree.”
“Go on...you will anyway,” he said.
“Tischenko was in Spetsnaz. They certainly train people on sniper style weapons. Wouldn’t killing Ekrem be a piece of cake for a crack shot? He could hunker down behind a hillside shrub and pick Ekrem off as he sat outside having coffee or walking down the street.”
“Not his style. His expertise as a combat swimmer rules his methods. He likes watery deaths, the victim’s struggle for air.
“Staying with that line of thought,” he said, before Charlotte countered. “If he’d been after them as a couple, he’d have killed Heather in the water that night too.”
“No. Perhaps he wanted to, but we got to the Zodiac and to shore too fast. He took the one target knowing he’d get the second later. Please, don’t forget how the gulet was struck. The trawler barely missed the master cabin. Had the collision taken out their cabin, they’d both be in the water and vulnerable.”
“I realize your family background is influencing you here. But, you’re wrong. Do what you’re good at, science. Leave the detective work to investigators.”
From the defiant look in her eye, she wasn’t going to listen.
She put the water bottle on the table and swung her leg around to straddle the bench and face him. Now what? “No more theories, please,” he groaned.
“I’m not theorizing now. This is about you. You’ve tipped your hand.”
“’Tipped my hand?’ I’ve made no beggarly gesture.”
“It’s an expression. Forget it.”
“It sounds accusatory.”
“Accusatory, but enlightening. When we bring up a relic and we’re not sure of the origin or its use, we all throw out different ideas. It’s what archaeologists do. You’re not doing that here. You settled on a motive and are following it with lock step determination the way cop’s do.”
“This is tipping my hand how?”
“When we first met, you gave me the impression Ekrem called you because you’re his friend and coworker. You also said he was assigned to a different unit. You said the Ministry expanded your duties due to his death. I don’t believe that. You’ve always been more than a rep.”
Like a dog with a bone, she wasn’t going to stop nagging him about his exact status. “Yes, I am,” he said, giving in.
“Oh man, I should’ve fingered you for an investigator after that arrest game you ran on me.”
“But you didn’t, which is why you should not play detective with these murders.” Atakan finished his water and tossed the bottle into the recycle bin.
Charlotte threw hers in the same bin. “Would it kill you to consider another angle?” she asked and followed him outside.
“You want to help? Get Ursula’s phone. She’s on the Suraya now.”
“Wait outside our quarters, if no one’s there, no problem.”
She jogged into the women’s living area and returned a few seconds later. “Here.” She handed him the phone and half of her Bounty bar.
“Thanks,” he said around a mouthful of the candy and went into the men’s quarters.
When he returned, she inspected the phone for any visible change and couldn’t find anything different.
“Charlotte--”
“Put it back?”
He stared at her without answering.
“Fine. I’m going.”
Atakan stood in the doorway watching as she replaced the phone in Ursula’s dresser drawer.
“One more thing you should bear in mind, especially if my theory proves right,” Charlotte said, as she came out the door. “‘When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.’”
“With all due respect to Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I don’t need to chase my tail with an improbable. I have not one,” Atakan held up one then two fingers, “But two probable theories.”
“So, your odds of being wrong are doubled. Impressive.”
“We’re overdue in the lab,” he said and stuck the buds for his iPod in his ears before Charlotte could say anymore.
Chapter Fifty
Athens
“Anything new for me?” Stevan asked Tischenko. Information the Ukrainian’s source in Bozburun obtained regarding Atakan was for later use. Stevan’s main interest at the moment was the status of Charlotte Dashiell.
“Good news, she’d connected in some way with a collector who buys smuggled artifacts, a man called Waterman.”
“Waterman...never heard of him,” Stevan lied smoothly. “But, it makes our job easier.” Waterman wasn’t Tischenko’s business.
“There’s disagreement regarding her within the Ministry.”
“In-fighting, I like it. What’s the problem?”
“My man monitored a call to the Director from Vadim. He told Firat, he trusts her. The Director indicated his continued skepticism. If Vadim is proven wrong, his career as an investigator is over.”
“Interesting, he’s willing to risk his job for a woman. He’s probably sleeping with her.”
“My man says no. A stupid waste if you ask me. I saw her in Santorini. She’s very fuckable,” Tischenko said.
“So was Heather Hilliard, I’m told.” Yasar Ozen heard the explicit details from Savas Firat and repeated them to Stevan. Every depraved act Tischenko and his men forced on her pleased Stevan to hear about.
“She was all right the first day, bit used up after that for my tastes. I gave her to my men.”
Stevan smiled. “Good. As far as Dashiell goes, we need her. If it looks like Vadim might get in the way, have your man remove him.”
“Kill him whether he gets in the way or not.”
“I forgot you did time in a Turkish prison because of Vadim.”
“Yes, we go back a long way,” Tischenko said in a bitter tone. “Kill Vadim and you tied Dashiell to the murders of two Ministry officials. The government will go through the motions of a fair trial to keep the Americans happy. Then, they’ll convict her.”
“I like it. When the time comes, kill him.”
Chapter Fifty-One
Bozburun
Charlotte looked up as Uma dashed through the lab door.
“Sixty Euros please!” Uma said, before executing a pirouette in front of the table where Charlotte and Atakan worked. Above her head, she waggled an ivory container the size of a cigar box with gold trim and a gold lock.
“Look what we found.” She plunked the box down on the table. Talat stood behind her, arms crossed over his chest, looking way too smug.
Uma wasn’t given to girlish behavior in the past. Charlotte preferred the old, predictable Uma and wondered what sexual voodoo Talat knew to cause the transformation.
Charlotte examined the box. A rectangular gold plaque was attached to the lid and bottom. A ridged piece about the width of her thumb protruded from the middle of the plaque.
“From your smirks, you’ve opened this already,” she said to Uma, who nodded. “Is this the locking mechanism?” She pointed to the protruding piece.
Talat rested one hip on the table and explained. “It’s the key. Remove this device,” he said, indicating where she pointed, “and three pins inside slide into matching holes. The key raises them and displaces the bolt. This is a very ancient system, most clever. As you can see the box is unlocked. Lift the lid.”
Charlotte played with the lock first. She tugged on the piece, heard the interior pins fall into the holes and then pushed the key back to raise the pins again.
“Open it,” Atakan said.
He, Talat, and Uma leaned in close as she lifted the lid.
Inside fragments of lining stuck to the corners, mere slivers of thread and ragged scraps. The color long faded, the material and dye used would be determined through testing at a large facility. An ivory stand was fixed to the center of the box. Cradled on top of the stand was a gold cylinder seal, the cuneiform and glyphs as perfect as the day it was locked inside.
Charlotte took the seal out, inspec
ting it to see all the symbols.
“I think it’s the same one used to make the impression on the inside of the amphora. What do you think?” she asked Atakan. Their heads together she rotated the cylinder to the section showing the two royal figures.
“I agree.”
“I wonder who the seated king is,” Talat said, studying the seal before replacing it in the box.
“You and me both,” Charlotte said.
“I am excited to tell Ursula. She wants to recover a seal more than anything,” Uma said.
“Yeah, what’s up with that?” Charlotte figured Uma might have some sisterly insight she’d share. “She got nasty with Atakan over seals.”
“Let it go.”
“Atakan, I understand you don’t want to make a big deal out of her attitude. But, I disagree. She was out of line and for no justifiable reason.”
“Charlotte, I am flattered by your advocacy. However, I can defend myself. Let it go.”
“I don’t know why my sister is dogged about finding a seal.” Uma shrugged. “We are fascinated by different artifacts, seals are hers. I won’t attempt to address anything inappropriate she said since I wasn’t present to hear her comments.”
“Charlotte, stop trying to start a quarrel.”
Everyone turned at the sound of Refik’s voice.
“In answer to your question, the seated monarch is an unidentified Arzawan king. Yasar Ozen, the museum curator, you know him, don’t you,” Refik asked Atakan, who grunted a “yes.”
“Yasar has an epigrapher on his staff. I emailed the photos taken of the bands on the amphora. He deciphered a portion and ascertained it is an administrative letter from the Hittite king to Arzawa.”
Charlotte stared down at the plaster impression, her personal excitement reduced to archaeological enthusiasm alone.
“Good, now that we have that sorted--” Talat stuck his hand out to Atakan and Charlotte, “Your money, please.”
The outcome of the war is in our hands, the outcome of words is in the council.
The Iliad
Chapter Fifty-Two
Charlotte sat with her arms wrapped around her knees.
“Mind if I join you?” Atakan asked.
“Feel free. I warn you though, I’m not good company at the moment,” Charlotte said.
“You’re displeased,” he said and sat next to her on the blanket.
“More disappointed. How did you find me? I thought no one noticed I skulked off.”
“I noticed. Refik’s information troubled you and I know you like to hide up here on your hill when you are distressed.”
A gull circled above them, screeching.
“I’m probably going to get shit on. It’s been that kind of day.” Charlotte tipped her head back, tracking the bird.
“Stop. You’re upset over the fact the second king is not Priam. Why does this upset you so? None of the artifacts we’ve found can be directly linked to your Troy, the Troy in your head. This is one more that doesn’t suit.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him shrug.
“That’s the crux of the problem. It is one more non-Trojan piece.”
She stretched out on her stomach. Folding her arms, she used them as a pillow and angled her head toward Atakan. “If I don’t find a positive connection my dissertation is in the toilet. Years of study and research gone to waste. It’ll be a terrible setback.”
“Yes, but that is all it is...a setback.”
“Easy for you to say, Dr. Vadim. How would you’ve felt if your thesis was ruined?”
“Frustrated and disappointed, but not destroyed.”
Atakan lay down next to her, pillowing his head on his arms too. “Charlotte, when you chose such a controversial subject, did you not consider the odds against you succeeding?”
“Yes...no, I didn’t dwell on failure.”
“If it turns out you’re wrong about this wreck, you haven’t failed. You need only to change direction. You have a world of topics to write on from this project.”
“I know, and I will.”
She hadn’t decided when she’d tell Dr. Mortensen about this latest non-Trojan relic. She didn’t kid herself. Monarchs from other kingdoms might be the death knell with the committee. Eventually, she’d have to report. If they withdrew approval, her only option was to suggest another avenue of study related to the wreck. Whatever the outcome, she’d like someone, just one other person to believe her.
Charlotte turned her head toward the sea, debating. Should she tell Atakan her secret? Maybe if he knew, he’d understand more why she was so determined to prove her theory. Or, more likely laugh in her face.
Not far from the cove a large animal broke the water’s surface and dived down again. A dolphin? She saw them frequently from her perch on the hill and loved watching them. Grace and beauty personified. Nothing breached again. Must’ve been a fish.
“It’s not a dolphin,” Atakan said.
“How did you know I was thinking that?” she asked, turning to him.
“You always watch the dolphins when we’re on the Suraya.”
“I do.”
“You watch until they’re out of sight.”
“You notice a lot of things,” she said.
“Yes.”
“Do you wish to talk more or shall we lay quiet, enjoying the view? I’m torn asking that question. You’re usually not so taciturn. I don’t know whether to provoke conversation or savor the silence,” Atakan teased.
He tried to look innocent and failed unable to stifle a huge grin. She laughed in spite of her mood. He had that ability. She decided to trust him with her secret.
“Atakan, can I share something with you that I’ve never told anyone? It will sound strange, but it might help you to see why I am so focused on Troy.”
“I take it the moment of silence is over,” he said. He looked skeptical and added, “By strange you mean crazy.”
“Strange means you need to keep an open mind.”
“Open mind means it’s definitely crazy.”
“If you can’t be at least objective, then forget it,” she said, facing the sea again.
“I promise to be a paragon of objectivity. Tell me your story.”
She propped her head on her fist and said, matter-of-factly, “Hektor spoke to me.”
“Hektor who?”
“Don’t be obtuse, Trojan Hektor.”
Atakan’s brows lifted and stayed lifted, his eyes wide. “Homer’s Hektor?”
“Yes.”
“Oh. When did he do this?”
“Remember when I told you about standing on the ruin at Troy and seeing his burial mound?”
Atakan nodded.
“I felt him, his presence. It was as though he was speaking to me.”
Atakan stared at her, silent, looking mystified as he digested what she’d told him. “Did he speak to you in English or Luwian?”
“You’re being an ass now. I told you something very private and you’re mocking me.”
“Mocking? No, I’m just trying to get the story straight.”
“He didn’t speak to me literally. I said I sensed him. I was touched by the spirit of the man and the desire for another truth to be told, a different truth than Homer’s. Hektor’s image came to me. I visualized him so clearly in my mind. Please, please don’t think I’m crazy.”
Atakan reached over and plucked a wild, red poppy from a patch near her head. He rolled the stem between his fingers before handing it to her.
“Not crazy, but prone perhaps to an overactive imagination,” he said as she took the poppy. “You have a profound interest in Troy. So much mystery surrounds the place I think you let the mood of the ruin influence you.”
The image wasn’t real. That would be crazy. But the emotion was too strong to be a figment of her imagination. Atakan sounded certain in his analysis. Maybe he was right. She always suspected Homer of political pandering and playing the story the way his audience wanted the outcom
e to be. Maybe she subconsciously convinced herself the wind was Hektor.
“Haven’t you experienced something you couldn’t explain, something intangible yet powerful?”
“No,” he said, “Nor, do fictional people speak to me. I’m not a spiritual man. Everything has a scientific explanation, even if the science is still unknown to us.”
“I can’t disagree,” she conceded. “Although, I rather enjoyed the idea it was his spirit.”
Atakan made a show of glancing over both his shoulders and scanning the shrubbery before he whispered, “Has he spoken to you lately?”
Charlotte shoved him hard on the shoulder, crushing the bloom. “Jerk.”
Laughing, he grasped her wrist. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t resist. I assume this violent attack means your mood is better?”
She tossed the poppy aside. “Yeah.”
“Seriously, don’t surrender to depression if your theory doesn’t come to fruition. Be the scientist, re-evaluate and adjust.”
A sudden and refreshing gust of wind sent the poppy over the cliff. It was the first hint of a breeze on the hot day.
“Want to go back?” Atakan asked, standing.
Charlotte nodded and stood. They folded the blanket and started to camp.
“Charlotte, personal opinion, I think it best to keep Hektor’s conversations with you between us.”
“Thank you, Captain Obvious.”
Chapter Fifty-Three
High winds from a meltemi storm blew out of the north southward across the Turkish coast. The blistering sun beat down all morning. When Charlotte and Atakan were on the hill, the skies were blue, not a cloud in sight. Within hours of their return, the winds struck without warning. They whipped through camp late in the afternoon. Hot, dry and dusty, they were often compared to the Sirocco winds out of the North African desert that blow across the Mediterranean.
Artifacts were thrown to the floor as the cloths on the lab tables were ripped off. Everyone scrambled to rescue the ancient works and tie the canvas sides of the lab down.
“They need us outside to help anchor the heavy equipment,” Atakan shouted over the wind’s roar.
“We’re fine. Go.” Charlotte raced to catch a small amphora rolling along the floor.
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