The Istanbul Puzzle

by Laurence OBryan

  ‘They’d be wrong.’

  I wound down my window. Warm air, exhaust fumes and the smell of salt water slid into the car. We passed a crowded two-tiered restaurant with wide balconies facing on to the Bosphorus. Booming disco music assaulted our ears. I was struck by how multi-faceted Istanbul was. It was a sleeping giant with millions of parts, which could swallow you whole. The way it had swallowed Alek.

  The wind was whipping Isabel’s hair across her face. Her cheeks were glowing and there was a band of sweat on her forehead.

  We passed over the Golden Horn. Ahead, on the top of the hill, the oldest part of Istanbul stood out against the night. The dome of Hagia Sophia was lit up by spotlights. It was easy to imagine how the city might have looked two thousand years before, when it was an ancient Greek city with an Acropolis and temples lit at night by torches all around them.

  Near the dome of Hagia Sophia was another smaller dome, Hagia Eirene. It was lit up too, though not as brilliantly as Hagia Sophia. And it had no surrounding minarets.

  The cab driver said something in Turkish. I didn’t understand a word.

  ‘One question is one too many for me,’ said Isabel. She said something in Turkish to the driver. He tilted his head to one side and pressed the accelerator.

  ‘I told him we’re going for a romantic walk by the Bosphorus and to hurry up.’ She smiled at me.

  We were driving in light traffic along a dual carriageway. On our left was the Bosphorus, on our right was a three-storey-high stone wall. Beyond the wall a hill loomed like a dark shadow, crowned with the glowing lights of Hagia Sophia and Hagia Eirene. As we approached a break in the barrier between the carriageways, Isabel leaned forward and asked our driver to pull over. It would be a good place to cross over, if we were planning a walk along the shore line.

  We’d just passed a small bus park on our right. Two dust-smeared ancient buses sat in a corner of the bus park. They looked as if they’d be lucky to move again. There were a couple of down-at-heel looking men by the side of the road near them. They seemed to be waiting for something. There was nobody else about. Traffic was light.

  A cropped-haired, sad-eyed young soldier in olive green, ill-fitting military fatigues was leaning against the wall further along, near a wooden gate. Once our taxi was gone we headed towards him. As we came up to him Isabel began talking excitedly in Turkish. She sounded angry. She pulled her identity card out from her back pocket and waved it in front of the boy.

  He let the butt of the cigarette that had been dangling from his mouth fall to the ground. He mumbled something, then turned and with a bow ushered us through the gate he’d been guarding. He saluted as we passed.

  ‘What did you say to him?’ I asked, as we started up a dark lane. It headed straight up the hill in front of us.

  ‘I told him our taxi broke down and the driver dumped us here, instead of at the main entrance.’ I could see the white of her teeth. ‘He said it’d be quicker if we go up this way. Turkish army boys are always so nice.’

  My eyes adjusted to the dark. The path stretching out in front of us had a brick wall on its left side, which could have easily been a thousand years old or more. On the right was a high wire fence holding back a row of drooping and dusty pine trees. Up ahead old street lamps from the earliest days of electricity cast small circles of light on the hard earth laneway, which became steeper and steeper as the hum of the dual carriageway faded behind us. The sweet smell of pine trees was all around us.

  ‘Have you ever been inside Hagia Eirene?’ said Isabel.

  ‘No. I’d no reason to.’

  ‘When I went to that violin concerto last year, we had to go down a ramp to get into the nave. It has a great stone floor, tiers and tiers of arched windows, and a very high domed roof. There’s a giant cross in outline in black, on the half-dome at the end of the nave. That’s the only decoration in the whole place. If that mosaic Alek took a picture of was from before the eighth century, as Father Gregory said, there’s no way it’s in any of the main areas there.’

  I looked over my shoulder. No one was following us. Up ahead, the laneway was in shadow between the street lights. The wind rustling through the tall pine trees blew stronger as we made our way up the hill.

  ‘The Byzantines thought icons had magical powers,’ she went on. ‘One empress, Zoe, believed an icon changed colour to predict the future just for her. Most people who lived here thought icons protected Constantinople. The city had been saved so many times after icons had been paraded on its walls. Enemy armies had just faded away. You can’t argue with that.’

  ‘It was a different world,’ I said. ‘They were certain of a lot of things.’

  ‘I’d have loved to have been here in 330 AD, when Hagia Eirene, and this whole city, was dedicated by Constantine to Christianity.’

  I could barely hear her above the rustle of the trees.

  Then she stopped walking, looked back down the lane, put a hand in her pocket and pulled out her phone.

  ‘I have to make a call, Sean.’ She tapped at the screen and put the phone to her ear.

  Was she going to tell them what we were up to?

  ‘Isabel Sharp here,’ she said, looking at me. ‘Anything for me?’ She listened for at least a minute, then gave directions to the chapel in Bebek, asked for the place to be checked out, to see if anyone had broken in there.

  ‘I’ll call again soon,’ she said. ‘And send that picture through to me.’

  Then she hung up.

  ‘There’s something I have to ask you, Sean.’ Her tone was more officious now.

  ‘Ask away.’

  Her phone beeped. She looked at the screen, then showed it to me. It was filled with a picture of a naked girl lying crumpled inside a large white plastic sack, the type that holds hospital refuse.

  It was a sickening image. The body was streaked with blood. I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t. Isabel took back the phone.

  ‘That woman was found in a waste chute at your hotel.’

  Something slotted into place inside me. I’d only seen the girl’s chin, a bruised cheek, her matted blonde hair, but the chill of recognition that ran through me was unmistakable.

  ‘Do you recognise her, Sean?’

  ‘I think it’s the receptionist who was on duty when I checked into my hotel.’ I felt bile rise in my throat. The poor girl didn’t deserve this.

  ‘You’re right. It is.’ She paused, then flicked a strand of hair away from her eyes. ‘The problem for you, for us, is she disappeared the night you fled your hotel, which doesn’t look good, not good at all. The Turkish police have been in touch with the Consulate, asking questions about you.’

  Was I the one under suspicion now? The world had gone totally mad. A blast of wind bent the tops of the trees above us.

  ‘They know she called your room before she disappeared.’

  ‘This is ridiculous.’ I was struggling to keep my anger in check. I was annoyed, but not just for myself.

  ‘She tried to help me. Those bastards who came to my room must have killed her. You saw what they were capable of.’ I felt a pressure on my chest. This was a nightmare that just kept getting worse.

  ‘Maybe, but if the Turkish media find out you’ve disappeared from that hotel, they’ll love it. Foreigners being involved in this sort of thing is manna from heaven for the press here. Considering that Alek died in mysterious circumstances, it’s going to be sensational if all this comes out as the next instalment.’

  I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, held it. The picture of the blood-streaked receptionist was etched in my mind. It wouldn’t go away. Whoever had murdered her, left her like that, was nothing less than pure evil. A chill was winding its way around my stomach.

  ‘There’s something else too.’ I opened my eyes. Her chin was up, as if she was on parade.

  ‘What’s that?’ I was ready for anything now.

  ‘Alek’s phone records show he spoke to someone on the Turkish security services�
�� watch list last week, someone Greek.’ Something heavy inside me sank.

  ‘I have no idea what that was about, before you ask,’ I said emphatically.

  ‘I’m sure you don’t, Sean. But it doesn’t look good. If the press here find out there’s proof of a Greek connection to both these murders, there’ll definitely be trouble. We’d have to consider issuing a denial on behalf of your Institute.’

  ‘As far as I’m concerned this just makes it more important to see exactly where he went,’ I said. ‘This is not going to put me off. No way.’ I started walking up the hill to the next pool of light. A few seconds later she was beside me, our forearms almost touching.

  ‘You can’t get away that easily,’ she said with forced brightness.

  Up ahead, two elderly bearded men in long Islamic tunics were walking towards us.

  ‘Smile,’ she said.

  ‘You too,’ I replied. But the last thing I felt like doing was smiling.

  She took my arm as the men approached. It felt good to have her hold me, even if it was only a pretence.

  Both men nodded at us in the dim yellow street light.

  ‘Nice people, Turks, very friendly,’ she said in an upbeat voice. ‘It’s an amazing place, Sean. You know they were using forks here when most Europeans hadn’t even heard of them?’

  ‘Alek may have come this way,’ I said, ‘when he took those photos. But doesn’t it seems strange to kidnap and murder someone for taking a few snaps?’

  Isabel gripped my arm. ‘It is strange. Alek’s kidnapping didn’t follow the normal rules at all, Sean.’ Her tone was low, cautious, as if she wasn’t sure how I’d react.

  ‘There are rules?’

  ‘Almost. Most terrorist kidnappings follow a pattern; demands, threats, deadlines. There was none of that in his case. There was no waiting at all. They killed him within a few hours. It’s all very strange.’

  ‘I hope to God he didn’t suffer.’ It was hard to imagine his last moments, his fear as the knife approached.

  There was silence for a while as we walked. I thought about Alek and that poor receptionist. I looked behind. The orange and white lights from the far side of the Bosphorus were reflecting eerily off the thick cloud hanging above the Asian shoreline. The rain clouds that had battered Buyuk Ada were following us, reaching out over the Bosphorus.

  We crossed a lane, passed a bus park on the right. The glow from the dome of Hagia Eirene was visible up ahead.

  The prison-like courtyard wall of Topkapi Palace was on our left. This time we were inside it. Up ahead, a red and white barrier pole blocked the road. Two guards in green uniforms stood behind the barrier. Both of them were cradling black machine pistols, their barrels pointed upwards. They didn’t look as innocent as the conscript who’d been at the entrance to the lane we’d come through.

  The sight of the guards brought home to me what we were planning. I felt a tingle of anticipation, and a strong sense of determination. This was for Alek, whatever happened.

  ‘Keep smiling,’ I said.

  ‘That’s my secret weapon,’ she replied. ‘Didn’t you know?’

  We strolled up to the grim-faced guards.

  One of them put a hand up to stop us.

  ‘We’re going to the concert,’ I said. I moved forward another step.

  He put his hand up close to my chest. I stopped, looked at it. I was tempted to swipe it away, but his buddy had his weapon pointed at us now.

  He said something in Turkish, then, in English, he said, ‘No entry.’ He was grim faced.

  I clenched my fists. We didn’t have time for this.

  Isabel had taken her phone out of her pocket. She stabbed a number into it. I could hear it ringing. ‘Wait, Sean,’ she said to me. She put a hand on my arm.

  The guard said something in Turkish. He didn’t sound happy. She held her hand up, as if she wanted to attract attention to herself. The guard looked at his buddy.

  ‘Is this a good time to make social calls?’ I said.

  The other guard said something rather loudly. Isabel raised her hand higher, as if to silence him.

  The guard’s mouth closed. He was deciding what to do next, contemplating getting nasty, probably. Isabel took a step towards him and held the phone out in front of her. The other guard took a step back and adjusted his machine pistol. We all listened to a faint ringing noise, an electronic cricket sound, emanating from the phone.

  For one long painful moment it seemed as if no one was going to answer. The guard took a step forward.

  ‘Merhaba, Cem!’ said Isabel loudly as the phone was finally answered by what could only be described as a grunt. She put the phone to her ear and began to speak rapidly in Turkish. The guards listened to her. After a brief conversation she passed the phone to the one nearest her.

  He said something brusquely to his colleague over his shoulder. Then he took the phone, said something in Turkish, listened and a moment later stood to attention. It looked as if he was about to salute. He handed the phone back to Isabel and muttered something under his breath. It sounded like an apology. He and the other guard stepped aside, raised the barrier and waved us forward.

  ‘What was that all about?’ I asked, as we walked up the steep sloping lane.

  ‘It helps to have friends in high places,’ she said.

  ‘You’re a useful person to bring along. Who did you call?’

  ‘A friend. A new Turkish general. He taught me some beautiful verses from the Koran.’ She had a fond smile on her face.

  As we crested the hill, the main gate of Topkapi, the one the bus had got stuck in, appeared to our left. Guards stood to attention near the gate in coal-black uniforms, with highly visible round white helmets. A high pale stone wall loomed behind them.

  Hagia Eirene was a hundred yards ahead beyond some thin trees. It was all lit up. Golden light blazed from tiers of arched red brick windows and from a circle of skylights that surrounded the raised dome. A few guests in evening wear could be seen milling around the far end of the building to our right. Was the concert over? Then I heard some music faintly.

  Hagia Eirene was looming in front of us, rearing up like an ancient fortress. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. The arched, leaded windows of the great church had golden light pouring out of them.

  Between the church and the path around it was a deep, twenty-foot-wide moat.

  ‘After the conquest this was one of only a few Christian churches not made into a mosque,’ said Isabel.

  ‘Anyone know why?’ I said.

  ‘Supposedly Mehmed the Conqueror was into the Kabala. Apparently he received mystical warnings about Hagia Eirene.’

  I looked up. The sound of distant laughter and a bus revving filled the air.

  ‘If Eirene was the Greek goddess of peace,’ I said, ‘why didn’t they change the name of the building when they made it into a Christian church?’

  ‘Don’t ask me,’ she replied.

  I was peering down into the moat. It was a mess of ancient half-broken walls and tumbled stones.

  ‘The Greek temple that was on this spot before it was a church was probably a den of prostitutes. That could have been why Mehmed didn’t want the place,’ I said.

  ‘It goes back a long way,’ she said, looking up at the walls.

  ‘You better believe it. Alexander the Great came here, I’d say. And that was six hundred years before Constantine. The Greek town that was here was even part of the Persian Empire for a while. We can only guess what went on on this site when it was one of their temples.’

  We kept walking. I still hadn’t seen any sign of a doorway with a recently installed security camera, my big clue from Bulent, the ace I’d been hiding. It wasn’t that much of a clue, but I was hoping it would be enough.

  ‘So how do we find the place Alek took those pictures?’ she said, as if she was reading my mind.

  ‘Patience, patience.’ I was examining the moat. The bottom of it was about fifteen foot below the level
of the path. We walked to the right, to the end of the building, then turned left alongside it, staying with the path. People were milling around here. The concert had ended.

  I was grateful for them being there. It meant we could have a good look at the building without attracting attention.

  Hardly anyone gave us a second glance as we walked as far as we could, right up to the main entrance where the high doors stood open. A stream of concert goers were drifting out. Security guards in black suits were hanging around the entrance.

  Maybe we could claim we had to go back inside, to find something we’d left behind. What was the worst they could do, stop us?

  ‘Where to now?’ said Isabel.

  ‘Let’s check back all the way around as far as we can go.’

  ‘What exactly are we looking for?’ There was a definite note of frustration in her voice now.

  ‘I’ll tell you when we find it.’

  She groaned. We retraced our steps.

  There was only one possible door that I’d seen so far. It was near the main entrance, almost under it, down at the level of the moat, which might have been what we were looking for, but, although there were steps down to it, there was no security camera near it. Was there a similar door on the other side of the building?

  We walked back alongside the moat to the spot where we’d first approached the building. Around the next corner, turning right this time, the moat-like area became wider.

  There was nobody else in this part, between the high outer wall of Topkapi and the looming red brick south wall of Hagia Eirene.

  Trees and giant weeds grew in the wide moat here, a steep walled area of ancient foundations, much of which was in shadow and about twenty feet below ground level.

  Then I saw it, in a corner of the exposed foundations: a recent addition, a wooden walkway, with steps leading down to a wooden platform. We walked off the path towards it and looked down. There were more steps leading down again, disappearing from view.

  I went down to the first platform. Isabel followed me. I could smell fresh wood.

  My thoughts were racing. Was this where Alek had been? And if Alek had died because he came this way, were we being stupid by coming down here?