The Christos Mosaic

by Vincent Czyz

  Drew buttoned up a white shirt. “But … what if he’s not taking bribes from Serafis? What if someone else is paying him off?”

  Zafer shook his head. “The two times Serafis’s Istanbul residence was raided, Ozatalay was in charge of the operations, and Serafis came out without a scratch.”

  “Still looks pretty risky.” Drew tucked in his shirt and cinched his belt.

  “Listen, all you have to do is say shalom, sit there and look like you know exactly what’s going on. In other words, he’s dirty, you know it, and we’re putting his balls in a vice. Your ID, by the way, is authentic.”

  “You mean a forgery of an authentic Mossad ID?”

  “Right. Mine says I work for MIT. This is a joint Turkish-Israeli op to recover Israeli cultural property. My assumed name is Tayfun. Don’t fuck up and call me Zafer.”

  Drew turned up the collar of his shirt and got started on his tie. “So we’re going to double-cross Serafis—keep the scroll and his money.”

  “Right.”

  The length of Drew’s tie was wrong. He took the knot out and started again. “Why? I mean I’m glad, but … why not take the money and run?”

  “I’m not in this for the money, Drew. It’s a nice windfall, sure, but I’m a soldier, and right now I don’t have an army. I mean, imagine you made a sword—you spent years on it, starting with choosing the right kind of steel. Hammered it, honed it, polished it. Until the blade whistled, and it was perfectly balanced in your hand. Then somebody puts it in a closet somewhere and lets it rust. I wasn’t made for storage. I wasn’t made to look good hanging from a belt. The best way to keep rust off something is to use it.”

  Drew nodded. “Gotcha.”

  “Turkey’s been dealing with terrorists for decades. I want to go back into the field where I belong. Seek and destroy. And the ones I don’t kill, I hope they stay awake at night knowing someone’s looking for them.”

  Drew admired Nathan and his non-violence, but he admired Zafer’s attitude as well.

  “Right now, I don’t exist—no army, no uniform, not even my real name. I’m in this game to beat the Sicarii. Then I’m going to take my name back. I’m going to get back into the military, one branch or another. I’m going to get back onto the battlefield, wherever it is.”

  Drew was convinced.

  “Oh, and one other thing …”

  “What’s that?”

  “I want Raymond.”

  8: 5

  CAPTAIN OZATALAY

  MASSIVE AND UGLY, the Emniyet Station in Mejidiyekoy was a labyrinth of departments and floors manned by hundreds of personnel. It belonged in Mejidiyekoy, a business district choked with concrete overpasses and traffic. Something like the less glamorous sections of Cairo.

  Drew and Zafer were in a parking deck next to the police station.

  A steel door opened, and a man who looked like a lawyer emerged. He walked briskly toward his car.

  “Our boy will be in uniform,” Zafer said. “He drives a shiny Opel. Not too ostentatious, not a BMW or a Mercedes, something just in his range if he spends his money carefully.”

  The steel door opened again and two men entered the garage. Exchanging farewells, they headed in opposite directions.

  “That’s him.”

  Stocky, balding, visored, blue cap in hand.

  Captain Ozatlay looked at the two men approaching him at first with what Drew took to be curiosity but mild alarm seemed to set in as he and Zafer got closer.

  Zafer stepped in front of the officer. “Captain Ozatalay?”

  “Yes.”

  Zafer flipped open his wallet and gave him a good long look at his ID. “Tayfun Akkaya, MIT. This is field agent Katz with Mossad.”

  Drew greeted him in Turkish; saying shalom had been a joke.

  “The Israeli Mossad?”

  “Do you know another one?”

  Drew held out his wallet to display his ID.

  The captain smiled almost as if he were embarrassed. “What can I do for two intelligence officers?”

  “You can take us to Araf in Nishantashi and buy us a couple of beers. You know where it is?”

  “I’ve been there.”

  Zafer gestured toward the Opel. “You don’t mind if we ride with you, do you?”

  “I … of course.”

  The doors of the car unlocked with an electronic chirp.

  Ozatalay slid into the driver’s seat. “May I ask what this is about?”

  Drew took his place in the back, while Zafer sat up front.

  “It’s nothing to worry about. But the Turkish government, which is cooperating with the Israeli government, is going to need your services.”

  The police officer pulled out of the parking deck onto busy street. “Shouldn’t I have been notified by my superior?”

  “Well, the truth is, captain, the chief of your department may be part of the problem.”

  “I see.”

  Drew thought the man relaxed visibly, although he could see no more than the back of the captain’s head and a partial profile.

  They pulled up in front of the bar, and Ozatalay surrendered his keys to a valet.

  Zafer held the door of the bar open for him. “After you.”

  Araf was swanky, with a lot of polished wood and brass. Cylindrical lights dangled from a high ceiling by long cords.

  They seated themselves at a corner table. Zafer flagged a waiter and held up three fingers. “Üh tane kirmizi.” Three reds. He turned to the police officer. “That’s a nice Opel you’re driving,” Zafer observed. “You’re doing well for yourself.”

  Ozatalay suddenly had the look of a rabbit whose long ears had caught the sound of a twig snapping somewhere behind him.

  “Do you know a man named Iorgos Serafis?”

  “Of course. An antiquities collector who deals on the black market. I raided his house in Istanbul twice.”

  “We’ve had his phones tapped for about six months now. We’ve also been intercepting his cell phone calls—he has several cell phones.”

  Now Ozatalay looked as though he felt something crawling inside his pants, but he was trapped in a foxhole and one wrong move might draw enemy fire. He simply had to endure it.

  “And you think … Serafis and the police chief—”

  “No. We don’t think, we know. We know that you and Serafis have had business dealings.”

  “I’m afraid I—”

  “Shut the fuck up and listen. You’re talking to a MIT field agent. I know about the scars on your legs you got from shrapnel while fighting the PKK on the Iraqi border. I know your wife’s middle name is Emine. I know where you live. I know how many cavities you have, and I damn well know who you do business with.”

  You didn’t have to be an expert interrogator to see that Ozatalay was putting all the will he was capable of mustering into trying not to look terrified.

  “I see I have your attention. Good. You’re wondering why MIT and Mossad are here, not internal affairs. Well, before we get to that, I have good news for you. We’re going to give you a chance to redeem yourself.”

  Ozatalay’s forehead had begun to glisten with sweat. He looked from Zafer to Drew and back again.

  The waiter set down three beers and left.

  Zafer took a glass mug by the handle and pulled it closer. “First, we want to know how much you’ve taken in over the years. We already have the figure Serafis mentioned, but we want to verify it. If they don’t add up, you’ll both sit in an iron room with no windows until your memory improves. Now, just to make you feel a little more comfortable, we’re not wearing wires.” Zafer turned out the collar of his jacket as if that would be enough to prove what he’d said. “Serafis involved himself in something a little over his head—that’s why my friend David is with us today. Now, I’m only going to ask you once: how much has Serafis donated to your favorite charity over the years?”

  Ozatalay spilled his guts like a slashed fish. “Ninety thousand US.”

  Z
afer looked meaningfully at Drew.

  Drew pretended he understood the look.

  “Congratulations, Captain, you decided to cooperate. Now … Serafis doesn’t know he’s being monitored—and it’s going to stay that way, right?”

  “Of course.”

  “Good. Because in addition to tapping his phones, he’s under twenty-four-hour surveillance. If you try to contact him, we’ll know.”

  “You have my word.”

  “Do I?” Zafer smiled. “I guess this is my lucky day. It just happens to be yours too. Not only do you get a chance to redeem yourself, but we’re going to let you keep the bribes you’ve already taken. Can you believe that shit? We’re going let your daughters stay in their private school. We’re not going to repossess your Opel. There’s just one catch: you’re going to be the one who arrests Serafis.” Zafer spread his hands out and held his shoulders in a shrug as if to say what can you do? “It’s you or him, right? He played the game, he lost.” Zafer put his hands down and leaned across the table. “Understood?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Zafer looked at Drew. “You hear that, David? He knows we’re not fucking around.” He turned back to Ozatalay. “All right, Captain, let me explain what’s going to happen. Tomorrow we’re going to meet with Serafis. He has a scroll worth a great deal of money. This item is the property of the Israeli government. We are going to walk in with a substantial amount of currency belonging to the Israeli government, and we intend to leave with it. We are not going to buy the scroll.”

  Drew took a few gulps of beer. This was the part of the plan that worried him most.

  “Immediately after we leave, you are going to raid the premises, confiscate the scroll, and arrest Serafis. We—” Zafer gestured to himself and Drew— “don’t show up in any reports. Understand?”

  Ozatalay nodded.

  Zafer leaned back in his chair. “Now, we have reason to believe your superior is not entirely honest, either. That’s none of your concern—it’s ours. All you have to do is organize the raid. You’ll have to inform him of the raid, of course. You’re not going to say a word about MIT or Mossad. Tell him you’re acting on a tip from one of your informants. If he opposes the bust in any way, we’ll know he’s on Serafis’s payroll, too.”

  Ozatalay nodded again.

  “The exchange will take place at Serafis’s house in Tarabya Üstü. Tomorrow, you’ll have to have men in place, but I can’t stress enough that your men can’t be seen. If Serafis suspects a raid, he’ll call the deal off, and you’ll be prosecuted for corruption.”

  Ozatalay had regained his composure. “I will arrange it. My best men—only my very best. Serafis will suspect nothing.”

  Zafer tipped his mug back and took a long drink. He put the glass down on the wooden table with a loud thunk. “I love this stuff.”

  Ozatalay smiled nervously and sipped from his own mug.

  Zafer leaned over the table a little. “Now, I want you to see the beauty of this arrangement. You and your department grab the glory for thwarting an internationally known smuggler and recovering an extremely valuable artifact. When the Turkish government presents the scroll to the Israelis, Turkey comes out looking good in the eyes of the international community. David and I save the Israeli government piles of money, so we get a pat on the back from our superiors. You see? Everybody wins—except Serafis.” Zafer opened his hands and spread his arms as if to receive a large gift. “Do you foresee any problems?”

  Ozatalay shook his head.

  “Good. There’s one other thing: this is not a joint operation between MIT and your department. MIT is going to pull all of its on-site surveillance before the exchange takes place so that we don’t have antiquities officers shooting at MIT agents. David and I are the only two agents you have to worry about. Everybody else is fair game. Understood?”

  “Understood.”

  Zafer finished his beer and stood up. “If you have any problems, call me immediately.” Zafer handed Ozatalay a card.

  Ozatalay took the card, pulled out his wallet, and offered a card to Zafer.

  “You’re kidding, right?” Zafer tapped his head with a finger. “Five-three-two, two-five-five, seven-four-nine-nine.”

  “I apologize.”

  “Have a good evening, Captain.”

  Drew finished his beer and said “Shalom.” An Israeli agent stationed in Istanbul would speak Turkish fluently, but he thought it went with Zafer’s condescension and sarcasm. Following Zafer out of the bar, he glanced at his watch. In a couple of hours, he would be sitting down to a drink with Yasemin.

  8: 6

  BROKEN THINGS

  DENIZ ATI, THE SEA HORSE, crowned one of the ferry stations in Kadiköy. Drew had managed not only to get a table on the terrace, but also to reserve one that was pressed right up against the wrought-iron railing overlooking the Sea of Marmara. A rough trail of hammered platinum led across the water to a half moon just above Topkapi Palace and the Aya Sofya.

  Yasmin was late, as usual.

  Nostalgia soaked in brine scented the end-of-September breeze. A candle flickered at the bottom of a glass shaped like a truncated teardrop. The beer in his glass glowed amber.

  When he glanced up from the table, there she was, scanning the terrace. She was in earth tones—a terracotta hobble skirt that accentuated the curve of her hips, a short blazer to match, and that caramel skin of hers.

  She saw him and her face took on the aura of a fanned ember. She walked to the table looking him over incredulously, as though somehow he’d just emerged, dry as dust, from the Bosporus. “Is this the new Drew? Mr. Businessman?”

  He was still in the silk suit. “I guess.” They kissed on both cheeks and hugged warmly.

  The spikes and barbs their past fights had left inside of him melted. How did this happen every time he saw her?

  Yasemin caught the attention of a waiter in black tie and ordered a red wine. “So …” She looked at Drew. “What’s this top-secret deal you’re working on?”

  “It involves, uh, an antiquity.”

  “An antiquity?”

  “It’s better if I don’t say anything until after it’s sold.”

  “Oh come on, Drew.”

  “What it is, isn’t important. It’s worth a lot of money, it didn’t come from Turkey, and it belongs to friend of mine. He just … needed my help.”

  Putting her back to the breeze coming off the water and cupping the flame of the lighter, she lit a cigarette. “What do you know about antiquities?”

  “Does it matter? It’ll be sold soon and hopefully I’ll make … I don’t know, maybe $50,000.”

  She leaned closer to him, eyes wide. “You’re kidding. Drew, this has to be illegal.”

  “Actually we’re getting it back to the rightful owner, and there’s a … reward for that.”

  “It still sounds to me like some kind of black market deal.”

  “Yeah, well, whatever it is, you should be happy about it. You and my old man never get tired of telling me how I haven’t amounted to much, how everything I do is half-assed, or just a waste of my potential. Even your father was disappointed you married an English teacher.”

  The cigarette halted its approach to her mouth. “Are we going to start this again?”

  “Yazz, this is what we have to deal with if we’re going to try to get back together. You told me to deal with my anger, and I did—I am. I admit I’m still working on it. But I can’t be the only one who makes changes. You have to make some changes, too.”

  Her eyes narrowed as she inhaled. “Such as?”

  “You have to stop trying to squeeze me into the husband you want me to be. That’s what so much of our marriage was about—you pushing, me resisting, then you punishing me … by shutting down and turning cold. You can’t treat me like a child. I don’t want to be married to someone who sounds just like my father.”

  She exhaled a plume of smoke that was swept away by a breeze. Her hair, short and thick, barely
moved. “You can’t keep acting like a child.”

  He shook his head. “You have to take responsibility for some of the things you’ve done, Yazz.”

  She shrugged. “Most of the mistakes were yours.”

  Drew leaned forward. “Was it all me? Am I a hundred percent to blame?”

  “Eighty percent.”

  “I don’t agree, but fine. Just tell me what you think your twenty percent is.”

  “I don’t want to do this.”

  “Just give me one thing, one flaw. Not a mistake you’ve made … something you do consistently. Like my bad temper.”

  “If I have so many flaws, why have you been begging me to take you back for two years?”

  “Isn’t it obvious why we behave the way we do? You … sometimes it’s like being too close to a fire—I get burned. But when I get too far away from you, I’m cold. I want to go back. Until I get burned again. Then freeze again. I guess it’s the same for you. That’s why we have all this back and forth. All I’ve been asking is for you to turn it down a little so I can be warm without being burned.”

  “I did turn it down. It didn’t help.”

  “What did you turn down? What did you change?”

  She stared at him.

  “Name one thing in your personality we could both do without. Like my temper.”

  “That’s enough of this.”

  “Just one.”

  She turned her head away and looked out over the water.

  “You’re not hypercritical or overly sensitive? You don’t hold grudges? You don’t punish me with my own love?”

  “Bunu duymak istemiyorum!”

  “You don’t want to hear it because it’s upsetting. Your father was like mine. He disapproved of you so much when you were a child, he made you think there was something wrong with you—”

  “Don’t talk about my father!” She stood up and flicked her cigarette at him.

  It bounced off gray silk in a burst of tiny orange embers. “I was a fool to think I could live with you again.”

  She almost bumped into the waiter who was bringing her wine. He looked at Drew quizzically. Drew motioned for him to go ahead and bring the wine. He watched Yasemin—her angry steps shortened by the skirt she was wearing—disappear inside the restaurant.