Golden Chariot

by Chris Karlsen

  “Did she ever mention Moira Hilliard?”

  “Maybe, I don’t remember. Why?”

  “She’s Heather Hilliard’s wealthy, widowed grandmother.”

  “So--”

  “Grandmother Hilliard,” Firat interrupted, “is a major contributor to a Virginia senator, who is close friends with the ambassador here. The Secretary to the American Ambassador called the Minister. He demanded to know what progress we have made on Ekrem’s case and especially Heather Hilliard’s murder.” The Director continued, “The Minister had no answer. A fact which displeased him greatly and which he expressed in strong terms when he called me.”

  “Why are the Americans so interested?”

  “An American professor is kidnapped from her apartment in Istanbul and found murdered. Why do you think?”

  “This is a motive specific crime and not a random one.”

  “A technicality the American media doesn’t care about. Do I have to tell you how many U.S. tourists visit Turkey? How much they spend?”

  “The Hilliard case is being handled by the Istanbul police.”

  “The Minister is demanding we oversee their investigation.”

  Atakan knew where Firat was headed with this call. He was hundreds of kilometers from where the woman was abducted and killed. Ekrem’s father shit on the Director and now the Director was looking to dump on someone. Atakan swallowed back a burp that tasted of cumin and garlic, wishing he hadn’t answered the phone.

  “Where are we on the Schweiger matter?” Firat asked.

  “I’m in a holding pattern until someone makes the next move. From her calls, I believe it’s to occur soon.”

  “A potential crime with no connection to Ekrem’s death, the Director stressed. As you recall, his murder was the reason I assigned you to the project.”

  Atakan doubted Ursula was involved with Heather’s murder. Nothing so far, indicated they ever met. Ekrem’s murder was a remote possibility, if it turned out Ursula was part of a smuggling ring. At this point, he couldn’t find a common thread between the various people.

  “No. I haven’t found a connection.”

  Firat continued his rant. “Bring this to a conclusion and soon.”

  “I will do my best.”

  “Hah! Do not do your best. Do whatever it takes. I want your ass up here dealing with the Hilliard case.”

  What did the Director expect of him? Snap his fingers perhaps and order Ursula and Damla to do whatever it is they’re planning and be quick about it.

  “Yes,” Atakan said, but the Director already hung up.

  Atakan closed his phone and walked to where Talat was drinking a beer.

  “Here, you look like a man who needs a beer,” Talat said as Atakan dragged another chair over.

  “I need more than one.” Atakan took the bottle and sank dejected into the rickety chair.

  “What’s the trouble? Ermine pregnant?”

  The mere suggestion sent a shiver down Atakan’s spine. Both families would insist on marriage so the child wouldn’t be a bastard. Then, he’d insist on a divorce after the birth. Tears and yelling and recriminations would come from all sides. The whole scenario gave him a stomachache.

  “No. If she is, it’s not mine. I take precautions.”

  Between the Director and the Ermine suggestion, the kebab ignited in his stomach. It burned a path through his chest, up his throat and erupted in a series of foul-tasting burps. He took a large swig of beer to douse the flames.

  “Why such a sour face when you were on the phone?”

  “It was the Director.”

  “Bad news?”

  “Worse,” Atakan groaned. “My case has become a political concern of international interest.”

  “Pislik herif.”

  “To the second power.”

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Atakan propped his foot against the pistachio tree and leaned against the trunk. Watching Talat work his magic with the ladies was always good entertainment.

  “Come, come,” Talat told Uma and Rachel. He wrapped an arm around each woman’s waist and stood them in front of the kitchen door. “I want a picture of the two loveliest ladies in camp.”

  Talat posed them side-by-side. As he positioned each woman, he ran his hands down their arms first. In a subtle gesture, he finished by stroking his thumbs over their breasts. Giggling, the women took turns and returned the touchy-feely exchange and nowhere near his breasts.

  Atakan looked on with admiration for Talat’s successful techniques. How he managed to induce the women to share him without jealousy was a feat discussed among the men, Refik and Atakan included. For his part, Talat shrugged off the coarse comments and questions.

  Talat snapped several photos before his actual target emerged from the building. Uma and Rachel were instructed to remain in the same spot, while Talat shot them in rapid succession from different angles. Each shot recorded Damla at various angles behind them.

  “Done,” Talat said, then declared with grand, dramatic flair. “Were I Zeus, I’d make you my personal goddesses.”

  A major mistake.

  Atakan shook with laughter, knowing the fallout to come.

  An equally amused Charlotte waited for the debacle alongside him. “He hasn’t a clue.”

  “No, poor fool.”

  Rachel and Uma bracketed Talat, who remained blind to the hornet’s nest he stirred. He realized soon after. Both women pestered him to name which was his beautiful Aphrodite. Neither one was interested in becoming another great goddess.

  He looked toward Atakan and Charlotte. The horror of the no-win dilemma he created on his stricken face.

  The badgering continued non-stop. Talat stammered nonsensical responses. The women weren’t going for his panicked gibberish.

  “Atakan,” Talat called out as Atakan and Charlotte began walking away. “A little help, please. I can use a wise opinion, objective and yet insightful.”

  “The wisdom of Solomon you mean.” Atakan touched an insincere hand to his chest. “I’d love to help, but I do not possess the intellectual dexterity or the courage your problem requires. Best of luck, my friend. I’m due on the Suraya.” Atakan gave him the smallest of bows and hurried off, Talat calling his name.

  They’d meet later alone in Refik’s office after Talat downloaded the pictures onto his laptop, provided he survived the female quicksand he stepped in.

  #

  “Good, very good.” Atakan sorted through the photos of Damla. He pointed to the ones most useful, two full face and a profile from each side. “Send these to my laptop. I’ll email the Director and ask he forward them to the Armenian NCB.”

  “What’s the turnaround time?” Refik asked.

  “They’re fast, forty-eight hours or less.”

  Talat clicked on the selected pictures and sent them to Atakan. “What’s the plan once you have him identified?”

  “Depends. The Director must stall their authorities if he’s wanted by them. We need to determine what the nature of his association with Ursula is before turning him over.”

  “I’d like to be a spider on the wall when that negotiation is conducted,” Refik said.

  “The Armenians will want some kind of trade-off,” Talat noted.

  “That’s the Director’s problem.” Atakan said, without sympathy.

  If Damla was a fugitive, the Armenians would squeeze Firat till his eyes popped. Atakan hoped they did. Between the Americans and the Armenians, Firat’s days would be spent in a Whirling Dervish routine of fawning and boot licking.

  Talat minimized the screen. “You’re grinning,” he said to Atakan. “I suppose you still find humor in my predicament with Uma and Rachel.”

  “No. I won’t lie, yes, that is amusing, but I was smiling at something else.”

  The latest Cold Play song drifted through the window into Refik’s office. Atakan split the blinds with two fingers and peeked out.

  “It’s Charlotte. She’s in a snarly mood b
ecause I told her she could not come in with me.”

  Talat stepped next to Atakan and took a quick peek for himself. “Hah! Justice for abandoning me to Uma and Rachel’s inquisition. Neither is speaking to me or doing anything else with me now.”

  Chapter Sixty

  “About time,” Charlotte said as Atakan came out of Refik’s office. “I’ve got useful information for you. Not to brag but useful is an understatement.”

  With Charlotte, the announcement could mean any number of things. “Please let it be another crazy connection to the Trojan War.”

  “I almost said better than a war link, giving voice to the scuttling of my personal goal. I don’t buy into superstition. However,” she added, “some things shouldn’t be said aloud.”

  “You believe in the evil eye?”

  “No. I’m just saying I don’t want to jinx myself.”

  The logic escaped him. He doubted asking for an explanation would help.

  She patted the blanket next to her. “Sit.”

  Atakan sat with his knees up and rested his back on the tree trunk. “Why is your music so loud?”

  “I don’t want this overheard.”

  “Charlotte, we have an agreement.”

  “I have a possible lead. Do you want to hear it or not?”

  On one level, Atakan was skeptical of the value of this information. He was also curious. She had shown him another way to view the puzzling pieces of the murders, even if he disagreed with her hypothesis.

  “Tell me,” he said.

  She looked around and said, “I know what Ursula wants.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “What’d ‘ya think,” she rapped her knuckles lightly on his skull. “The seal,” she whispered.

  “This is no surprise. If she intends on smuggling an artifact, I’m aware that’s what she’d take. My problem is proving theft is her intent.”

  “Just listen. Remember she took photos of the seal with her cell. I kept wondering what she intended to do with them.”

  “I dislike where this is going.”

  “Shh, it gets better.” She ignored his groan. “I thought, maybe she made prints and is sending them to someone. I checked the outbound mail. She never mailed them. I rummaged through her drawer yesterday--”

  “You didn’t. Charlotte--”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m disgusted with myself, but none the less, it was for the greater good. I found the prints in an envelope.”

  “Tell me you didn’t steal them.”

  “No, that would alert her. On the surface, it appears like no big deal, she made copies, so what, right? But, thinking outside the box, I kept coming back to why’d she take the pictures to begin with?”

  “I wish you’d stop thinking.”

  “You can carp or hear the rest. Take your pick.”

  He gestured for her to go on, making circles with his hand like a traffic cop.

  “You’d know if she sent them via phone to someone. What’s left? She emailed them.”

  “You didn’t--”

  “Ursula had her laptop out before her dive. Because it was already out, Uma asked to use it. Ursula said fine and left. I fiddled around on my computer while Uma did stuff on Ursula’s. Uma finished, closed it up, but didn’t log off.”

  “You snooped into Ursula’s emails?”

  Charlotte smiled and nodded. “I checked her sent file from the date she got the photos until today. I wasn’t horrible. I didn’t read her personal messages. I only checked for which one had JPEG pictures.”

  “I take it you found them.”

  “She sent them to Kryianos. I figured that would peak your interest.”

  There were strict guidelines for the team regarding confidentiality of the results of their recovery work. Pictures of relics and hull sections were released to only those experts assisting MIAR. Nothing went to outside people without approval. Violations did occur. Those caught were dismissed and banned from working archaeological sites in Turkey.

  Kryianos was known to the Ministry and other agencies as an alleged private collector. Ursula’s relationship with him nearly cost her assignment to the shipwreck project. After much discussion between MIAR and the Ministry, approval was granted. Kryianos had never been found guilty of dealing in stolen artifacts. Neither organization would hold her ties to him against her. Unlike the situation with Charlotte and Waterman, who had a history of black market purchases, the Ministry relented easier with Ursula. Because of Sun Bear’s contribution, MIAR urged the Ministry to give Charlotte approval also. The Ministry conditionally agreed after advising first Ekrem, then Atakan, to clarify what she knew about Waterman and what their exact status was.

  The lack of evidence against Kryianos meant little to Atakan. He had no use for private collectors. Whether proof of wrong doing existed or not, he was firm in his conviction. None were innocent. The seal was the most valued find from the wreck so far. Atakan wouldn’t ignore the fact Ursula violated the rules and sent pictures of the seal to Kryianos.

  “You have a copy of the email address,” he asked Charlotte.

  Charlotte pulled a folded piece of paper from her short’s pocket and handed it to Atakan. “I worried she might delete the email if she thinks you suspect her. I sent it to my computer as a file and then deleted the sent message.”

  “Is your laptop out and handy?”

  “Yes.”

  “Get your computer and meet me in Refik’s office.” Atakan stood and gave her a hand up.

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Charlotte came in as Atakan was telling Refik and Talat about Ursula’s emails. Her actions were questionable and a definite violation. His suspicions fell into a grey area and he wanted opinions. He asked Talat to bring the seal to the office while they discussed what to do about the situation.

  Talat brought it from the secured container in the lab. The seal shared the locked box with the other three most prized artifacts, the diptych, the jeweled lion and the hinged amphora. The box with the four relics needed a special combination to open that only Refik, Atakan and Talat knew.

  “Ideas?” Atakan asked as Talat laid the seal onto Refik’s desk.

  “Above all else we must protect the seal,” Talat said.

  Atakan corrected him. “No, above all else, I must find out who killed Ekrem and Heather. The seal is my second priority. As no clues are forthcoming regarding the murders, I’m concentrating on the seal.”

  “Have you definitely established Ursula intends to steal the piece and send it to Kryianos?” Refik asked.

  “No, but I am going to assume the worst.”

  “How long will it take to serve a search warrant on the server she sent the email to?” Charlotte asked. “Who knows what else they discussed prior to the message I saw?”

  “No warrant’s needed. Greek authorities will send me copies of their messages within hours.”

  “In the States we call email, ‘evidence mail.’ I wonder why she’d use that system and not send the pix by cell phone.”

  “Better copies off the computer is my guess,” Talat told her, lighting a cigarette.

  Atakan was lost in thought. The dynamics of the case presented him with a couple of choices, neither good. After deliberating, he settled on the one he found most satisfactory. He put it out to the three.

  “Here’s the problem. If this is a smuggling case, I need her to actually steal the seal in order to find out all the parties involved,” Atakan said. He knew how poorly the option would be received.

  Refik stiffened, an appalled look on his face.

  “Relax, I’m not suggesting we allow this. However, the risk factor is too great to leave the seal here. It must be removed to Ankara.”

  “Why? If you have Ursula and Kryianos the risk is neutralized. MIAR isn’t done with it.”

  “You know how these crimes work, Refik. It’s never simply two people.”

  “It is insane,” Refik said.

  The final decision rested with
Atakan and the Ministry. Refik had input, but he’d co-operate with their decision no matter how distasteful. Atakan abhorred the idea of forcing Refik to agree.

  “This isn’t an easy choice for me,” Atakan said in defense. “By removing the seal to a safer place, I am cutting the case off before I find the links in the black market chain.”

  “Kryianos is rich. Maybe it is just the two of them,” Charlotte said.

  “Trust my experience when I say the possibility is remote.”

  “Again, this is predicated on the assumption the seal is a target, which is not a certainty,” Refik reminded Atakan.

  “You know it’s the target.” Atakan held the golden cylinder in his palm, admiring the workmanship. “He’s a collector and seals are one of the most sought after items by his kind.”

  There was a knock on the door and the camp cook cracked it open. “I thought you might like refreshments.”

  The cook smiled at Refik who waved her in. She carried a tray with four glasses of tea and a bowl of fruit. Atakan stopped talking while she set the tray on the low table in front of the sofa.

  Refik thanked her and she left. He gestured for the others to take a glass.

  Charlotte and Talat each took one. Atakan left his on the tray. He wasn’t in the mood for tea. He didn’t appreciate Refik challenging his decision.

  “No case has been brought against Kryianos for illegal acquisitions.” Refik crushed a lemon quarter over his tea. “Why remove the seal based on a slim hunch?”

  Refik’s skepticism pricked at Atakan’s patience. “Let’s say I’m right. Why not act with excess of caution? I don’t understand your reluctance to let the seal go.”

  “I know how the Ministry works,” Refik argued back. “Your agents escort it to Ankara. From there into a cellar it goes until who knows when. Finally, when some official arbitrarily decides, the government will allow the institute to claim proper credit.”

  Atakan set the seal down onto the ivory cradle. “That is your worry, that MIAR won’t receive the credit in a timely manner?”

  “Good press, public recognition, and respect within the profession translates to funding for us.”

  “The global economy is killing us,” Talat interjected. “We need the European and American television producers to do stories on our work. Exposure is vital.”