by Vincent Czyz
These were Serafis’s “experts.”
A small black suitcase lay on the table like a single piece of merchandise on display. Light came in through the tall windows making Drew feel almost as if the place, even without altar or pews, was a sort of chapel.
The two men eyed Zafer suspiciously. Zafer approached looking friendly enough, put both hands on the edge of the table and shoved it against the two men. They reacted predictably, putting their arms out and folding over at the waist to avoid the wooden edge. Zafer hopped up on the table and, as Miskovicz straightened up, caught him across the cheek with a vicious kick. The Pole collapsed. Hohenzollern took a step back and reached inside his jacket, but Zafer had already drawn his pistol and had it aimed at the German. “Don’t!”
By this time, Drew had dropped the briefcases, but, unsure of whether or not he should pull his weapon, just stood there.
“Gentlemen, please! Please!” Serafis, both hands thrust out, looked like a referee far too small to separate a couple of heavyweights intent on mauling each other.
Zafer reached in Hohenzollern’s jacket and took out a Glock.
Then he reached in the unconscious Pole’s jacket and removed his pistol as well.
Hohenzollern knelt down beside Miskovicz. “Jan is an old man.” The German’s English was accented but clear.
“So was Professor Cutherton.”
Anger warmed the back of Drew’s neck.
Zafer glanced up at the light fixture, which looked normal enough to Drew, and then at Serafis. “Eye in the sky, huh?” He aimed the pistol he had just confiscated and fired it once. The light went out and glass shards danced briefly on the smooth white floor.
“For the love of God…!” Serafis raised his hands as if he thought a piece of the ceiling would come down as well.
“Now we can do business.” He turned to Drew. “Show them what we brought.”
Miskovicz was on his feet again although he had to be supported by Hohenzollern. Drew placed one of the aluminum briefcases on the table and opened it. He took out the wooden box containing the scroll and slid it over to the German.
The Sicarii snapped open the pressure latches and lifted the lid. Drew couldn’t see what was behind it, but even Miskovicz, whose cheek had already swelled, seemed to revive.
Gingerly, Hohenzollern removed the scroll from the box. The leather sheath was ragged, and it was only with great care and agonizing slowness that the German was able to extract the scroll. For all his meticulous handling, a flake fell from the scroll to the table. Miskovicz tweezered it up and put it in a tiny box with a lid that snapped close. Drew realized that in spite of their Christian fundamentalism, they were still scholars, and this was an astonishing find.
Zafer took out the envelope with the photographs and slid that over to them as well.
After Hohenzollern had rolled about three feet of the scroll out on the table, the two men began comparing it with the photographs. Serafis, that balding, tubby, glorified used car salesmen who vandalized tombs, culture, and history with equal abandon, was standing in front of Drew, defenseless. Drew had his chance to ventilate him, and take out two of the men who’d been responsible for Stephen’s murder. Instead, he stepped closer to the scroll.
The neat rows of Hebrew script were beautiful in a way Drew couldn’t describe. Singed by time, the parchment had turned a golden brown, and the rune-like letters looked, not as though they had been inked onto the parchment, but burned into it. This was as close as human beings could get to speaking from the grave, to preserving an angel’s words. The men and women who’d believed in heavenly visitations the way Drew believed oxygen and hydrogen combined to make water had gone to dust, but in this scroll some of the magic remained.
After conversing in whispers—and in German—Hohenzollern and Miskovicz looked at Serafis and nodded.
“Gentlemen …” The chubby Greek addressed Zafer and Drew. “As promised, I, Iorgos Serafis, have arranged for payment in full. Five million dollars.” Spinning the suitcase around on the table so that it faced Zafer and Drew, he opened it.
Drew’s first thought when he saw the neat stacks of 100-dollar bills was: We’re not gonna fit all that in two briefcases. He got to work on it while Hohenzollern gingerly rolled up the scroll. The German put it back in the box with the leather cover beside it. The latches snapped the lid down another millimeter as they locked in place.
Drew had stuffed both briefcases to capacity and there were still a few wads left over. He put a couple in his pants, and one in his jacket. Zafer took one and peeled off five thousand dollars. “I think that’s a fair price for your cameras.”
Serafis nodded.
Everyone turned when Nathan entered the room.
8: 9
PAWN TAKES QUEEN
ZAFER HAD NEVER TRUSTED Nathan, and here he was about to fuck up a five-million-dollar deal. He must have picked the lock to the back door. Damn him. Zafer made a split-second decision.
“Hey, Kurt!” Zafer threw a Glock to Hohenzollern and pulled his own weapon. Now, Zafer thought, we’ll see who Nathan’s working for.
“He’ll kill him!” Drew shouted.
Zafer aimed a finger at Drew. “Shut up and do what I tell you!”
As Hohenzollern looked up from the weapon he’d just caught, he took a generous dose of pepper spray in the face. The German fell to his knees with a cry. The pistol clattered to the tile floor. Miskovicz dropped to his knees and grabbed it, but Nathan was already on him. Seizing the weapon, he twisted it—and the Pole’s arm. Hard. The snap of bone was accompanied by a shriek. Miskovicz rolled onto his back holding his mangled finger; it had been caught in the trigger guard.
Nathan put the weapon in a trouser pocket.
Zafer didn’t see the red-headed Ebionite approaching from the foyer until he’d already gotten off a burst of pepper spray. Zafer raised a forearmed and spun around, but he wasn’t quite quick enough; his left eye caught fire.
“Kahretsin!”
Drew pulled his Beretta and pulled back the slide in the same motion—just the way he’d practiced all day yesterday and this morning. He aimed at Josh—this guy with crew-cut red hair had to be Josh—and fired.
Josh leapt to one side, and the bullet pierced the glass door of a cabinet, shattering the ancient urn behind it.
Not all that loud was one of a jumble of instantaneous thoughts that went through Drew’s head. What if that was an urn showing Dionysus as Christ? was another.
Drew fired a second round. Amazing how fast people react when you point a gun at them. It ricocheted off a terra cotta tile conjuring an intricate web of cracks.
“Drop the fucking spray can and roll it over to me, or I won’t miss the next time.”
Josh did as he was told, but Nathan had his can of pepper spray out again.
“Don’t!” Zafer’s pistol was trained on Nathan. “Even blind I can hit you at this range.”
A shot rang out from somewhere behind Drew, and he flinched. A tiny hole erupted in Nathan’s buttoned jacket, and Nathan stumbled back. Drew turned and saw Serafis holding a small revolver. A second shot hit Nathan, and he fell like a boxer who’d just taken a sharp punch to the jaw. He sat there looking slightly dazed, the can of pepper spray still in one hand.
Without thinking, Drew reached the Greek in two long steps. With a vicious twist of his trunk and all of his weight behind his elbow, he caught Serafis under an eye.
The balding dealer collapsed as if he’d taken a bullet. His revolver fell a few feet away, and Drew snatched it up.
Zafer charged Josh. Josh threw the first punch, but Zafer—one eye closed—parried and landed a palm heel to the nose. Josh’s head snapped back so hard Drew saw the entire underside of his jaw. Just to make sure he was out of the game, Zafer caught him with a knee to the temple.
To his amazement, Drew saw Nathan back on his feet.
“Put bracelets on Nathan’s pal,” Zafer growled at Drew.
Drew groped around in
a pocket stuffed with money until he came up with a Kevlar tie; it looked like the kind used to cinch a garbage bag. Kneeling beside Josh, Drew was about to put the Ebionite’s limp hands behind his back when he saw Hohenzollern flying at Nathan with a wicked-looking knife.
“Nathan!”
Nathan dropped the can of pepper spray and raised both hands in a block. Hohenzollern artfully retracted the knife and stepped away leaving no room for a counter.
The German could barely open his eyes—just enough, it seemed, to locate Nathan. He nonetheless swung the blade in an expert arc. Nathan evaded it, but Zafer, who wanted desperately to get out of Serafis’s house before something else went wrong, skipped forward and hammered the small of Hohenzollern’s back with the instep of his foot. The German flew forward and collapsed to his knees, the knife landing some distance away on the floor.
Zafer pointed his Glock at Nathan. “I know you’re wearing a vest under there, but I’ve got a 17-round magazine. If I don’t feel like breaking your ribs, believe me when I tell you I can take out your kneecaps. Even with one eye. So we’re done now, right?”
“Believe him,” Drew said.
Nathan held up his hands to signal surrender. “Done.”
“Slide over the gun you snatched from the Pole.”
Nathan took it out of his pocket and sent it skittering over the tiles.
“Now grab your pal, Nathan.” Zafer tucked the pistol in the waistband of his pants. “Drew, get the money.” He tried to open his left eye, blinked rapidly, then squeezed it shut again. “We’re all leaving together.”
Miskovicz was still on his knees moaning.
Serafis was holding onto the corner of the long table to steady himself.
“Sorry about the cheap shot, Kurt,” Zafer said, “but we’re all settled up now. Scroll’s yours, money’s ours.”
The German’s eyes were red and swollen, his cheeks glistening with tears like a repentant saint.
“Pleasure doing business with you.”
Drew grabbed the aluminum briefcases, but before they reached the door, they heard pounding from the other side and shouting in Turkish. The word “Polis” was clear enough that even the Sicarii probably understood it.
“Fuck!” Zafer sounded angry, but—his back to the Sicarii—he was grinning.
Serafis looked at the only TV monitor still receiving a picture. Three police officers filed through the back door. “Impossible! They can’t be here now!”
Drew dropped to his knees, took out his Mossad ID, and put his hands on his head.
Zafer did the same. “You, too, Nathan.”
Hohenzollern lurched toward the table in what was probably a frantic effort to grab the scroll, but several officers pressed him to the floor with their hands and knees. Two stood over him with guns drawn.
Miskovicz, who looked sick with pain, put up no resistance.
One of the officers opened the front door while another threw Serafis against the table. He squealed in Turkish.
Captain Ozatalay, leading half a dozen more officers into the house, examined Zafer’s ID as though he had never seen it before. He motioned for Zafer to get up.
“Ikisede bizimle geliyor.” Zafer pointed at Josh and Nathan. These two are coming with us.
After Ozatalay checked Drew’s ID, one of his men brought him the long wooden box containing the scroll.
Zafer flashed Hohenzollern his ID. “Bet you wish you had one of these.” He tucked his wallet back in his jacket.
The German glared through eyes swollen to slits. “We’ll kill you for this.”
“No you won’t.” Zafer grinned. “We have something else you want.”
“From that idiot, Nabil?”
“Nabil? We don’t need him. We’ll be in touch.”
“Next time will be very different.”
“Yeah … see you in Egypt.”
Josh, his nose streaming blood, was on his feet, his hands cinched together by the Kevlar bracelet.
“Keep quiet.” He turned to Ozatalay. “Captain, would you escort us to our car?”
“Of course.”
The patio surrounding the house was littered with haphazardly parked cars, only one of which was a marked police vehicle.
Drew opened the back door of the Audi for Josh. He closed it after Nathan had slid in next to them.
Leaning close to Drew’s ear, Zafer said, “Not a word to those guys.”
“You still don’t trust—”
“Remember what I told you? Stonewall everyfuckinbody.”
Motioning Drew to join him, Zafer took up a place at an oblique angle to the trunk of the car. His left eye was still crimped shut and tears ran down the side of his face
Something beeped; Zafer checked his phone and then slipped it back into a jacket pocket.
“You came in a little sooner than expected, Captain.”
“I … got nervous. I thought you might need help.”
“Well, we’d like to show our appreciation.” He looked to Drew. “David …”
It took Drew a second to realize he was David and to figure out what was expected of him. Instinctively, he reached in his pocket and pulled out a banded stack of bills.
Ozatalay looked around, but his officers were all either inside or preoccupied with searching the grounds. “Thank you, sir.”
Zafer handed over a stack of bills. “I’m sure the Israeli government won’t miss 100,000 dollars. We’ll call it operating expenses. Be sure your men get something.”
“Very generous of you, sir.”
“Remember, we were never here. Make sure your men remember as well.” Zafer looked a little comical assuming a position of authority with that shut eye shining his cheek with tears.
“I understand.”
Drew took the wheel while Zafer got in on the passenger’s side and wiped at his eye with the ham of his thumb.
He pulled out, not quite able to believe that they were getting away with nearly five million dollars.
“How the hell did you do that?” Nathan asked.
“I’m not as dumb as I look.” Zafer craned his neck to get a look behind him. “So you’re Josh, huh?”
“Yeah.”
Zafer hawked and spat out the open window. “My eye is killing me.”
“I think you broke my nose.”
“That cheers me up a little.”
They came to the end of the tree-lined driveway, and Drew made a left onto the road that led down the hill toward the Bosporus.
“The good news for you guys is that the scroll will probably go back to Israel. The good news for us is that we have enough money to retire.”
“This was a set-up?” Nathan asked.
Zafer shook his head. “Not on our end. My guess is Serafis has been bribing Ozatalay all along, but this time, somebody high up got wind of the deal. Ozatalay had no choice but to make an arrest.”
“But Serafis is sure to turn over on him.”
Zafer shook his head. “It’s not in Serafis’s interest. Not only is he still guilty of trafficking in illegal antiquities, but bribing an officer is an additional charge. Even if Serafis did manage to take Ozatalay with him, the little Greek could be sure somebody would stick a knife in his back during his stint in prison. No, he’ll get an expensive lawyer, do a few years, bribe the guards to get cushy treatment, and get back into smuggling antiquities when he gets out.”
“And you … why won’t Serafis turn you two in?”
“Same reason. It won’t save his skin. He’ still guilty of receiving an illegal antiquity and, when he gets outs of prison in a couple of years, he’ll be blackballed from the trade. Even if he does roll over, a security camera shows us going in there with two briefcases, not with a scroll. And we left with the same two briefcases—not with the scroll. We didn’t buy anything.”
“What about the Sicarii? They can still rat you out.”
“If we go to jail, they don’t get another little item we happen to have.”
&nbs
p; “What’s that?”
“I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”
“I guess we almost fucked up a perfect deal.”
“Almost.”
The winding road had taken them to Tarabya, not far from where the Black Sea funneled into the Bosporus. Zafer pointed and Drew pulled over.
“Out you go, gents.”
Black Sea fishing boats, with their distinctively upcurved sterns and bows, bobbed in the quiet harbor.
Josh held up his hands. “What about this?”
“That’s Kevlar. I’ve got a knife, but I don’t want to ruin the blade.”
“C’mon, Zafer,” Nathan said. “Don’t you think we’ll look a little suspicious?”
Zafer sighed. “All right.” He got out of the car, opened the trunk, and pulled out a pair of lock clippers. Even then, Zafer had to strain to get through the bracelet.
Josh rubbed his wrists. “Thanks.”
Zafer looked over the Ebionite’s swollen nose and grinned. “Does look broken.” He gestured with a hand. “There’s a bus stop about a hundred meters from here.”
When the Ebionites had covered about half that distance, Zafer opened the trunk again.
Kadir got out with a video camera in his hand. He had filmed through the clear plastic of the taillight; the inside of which had been removed leaving only the plastic cover. When Zafer’s phone beeped, it had been Kadir letting him know he’d gotten a clear shot of the deal.
Zafer got back in the car. “Now we got a little something extra on Ozatalay to go with our conversation in Nishantashi.”
“I heard that video doesn’t hold up in court. Too easy to doctor.”
“Maybe. But I’ve got two separate audio tapes to back it up.” Zafer pulled the collar of his shirt down to reveal the microphone.
“What was that show you put on for the Ebionites? They’re not Sicarii.”
“No. I don’t think anybody would take two bullets as part of an act. Especially from Serafis. The way he held the pistol, I’m surprised he hit anything he aimed at. In any event if the Sciarii have them under surveillance, it will look like we kept our end of the bargain.”