"There's no other option. I will try contacting the U.S. embassy and tell them our fears, about Bertók and the kind of force he wields, but I have a strong feeling that not much will be done. You will need to go straight to the mosque and warn the authorities. You speak Arabic; you can tell them who to look out for. You have to warn them."
I didn't want to sound self-interested or uncaring for the people at the mosque, but I was far from excited about going where Hansen and his goons were heading. "Mr. Vermil, sir, I'm lucky to be standing here talking to you. The idea of going to Turkey, to where those men are heading—"
"I don't desire to put your life in further danger, William," Mr. Vermil said, "but I cannot emphasize how important it is that we don't let Charles get that book. If what you say is true, and that he desires to take it, then we have to act."
I was flabbergasted by his response. "With all due respect sir," I said angrily, "I think your dedication to preserving history has gone well beyond my desire to help. I'm sorry Ben, but I'm done."
"This isn't about history, damnit!" Mr. Vermil said loudly. "This is about preserving life! I understand your desire to save your own skin but there are others who will pay with their lives if we don't act. Please, William, I beg you. This is no longer about finding the book. Given everything Bertók has done to obtain it, we have to believe he is willing to do a lot more." He paused for a second and then said: "For God's sake, William, if I were younger and healthier, I would be the one going instead."
"But you're not," I replied, "and I'm not you." But somehow my mind began to change. Mr. Vermil said one thing that turned my decision. At the time, I didn't see the importance of the book or its contents. It was all ancient myth to me—a silly religious text. But human life was important over everything else. I couldn't leave others to die. So I gave in and agreed to go. "Alright, Mr. Vermil, you win. I'll go to Turkey."
*******
Rebecca stopped reading for a minute and thought about Benjamin Vermil. What role does he play? In William's world, he was a wealthy, powerful man that knew more than he let on, but in her world, he lived in Cognitive Services . . . does that mean something? Rebecca thought about what Erich had said about how there could potentially be intelligent people living in Cognitive Services. She was sure that Morlan and her father would be interested in hearing about it, just more circumstantial evidence condemning the Ministry. She decided it might be best to keep Benjamin Vermil to herself . . . at least for now.
*******
Thirty minutes later we were taking off and heading due west. Captain Jackson told me it would only take us a couple of hours to make it there. He was right. We landed at Atatürk International Airport exactly an hour and fifty-eight minutes later.
The airport was buzzing with energy when I arrived in Terminal B. There were people sitting and standing everywhere, most on their mobile devices or had their laptops out, surfing the web or checking email.
After exchanging my currency, I made way to the taxi stand where I found an empty cab idling. "Süleymaniye Mosque?"
The Turkish cabby nodded his head and said in English: "You want ride?"
"How long will it take?"
He hummed in contemplation. "About twenty-five minutes."
"How much will that cost?"
"About sixteen your dollars."
Everything was a bargain in that part of the world. The price didn't sound bad so I agreed and hopped into the back seat. I was hoping that everyone in Turkey understood English like this driver. I couldn't speak Turkish but I wasn't completely unfamiliar with it either. Believe it or not, there actually were a small number of people living in Iraq who spoke Turkish as their first language. I was able to pick up on some of the vocabulary, most of which was borrowed Arabic words.
"What brings you to Istanbul?" the driver asked through the mirror.
"Work," I replied quickly.
He smiled and nodded. "I get many Americans. What business are you?"
Fearing another Fejzo incident I decided to keep the conversation rather dull. "Computers."
He nodded again, seeming to gather the hint. He took us south on the Atatürk Havalimanı Cd, which was the main airport road, and around the traffic circle that had a tall-layered fountain serving as the centerpiece for a patch of finely trimmed grass making up what looked like a large asterisk.
The trip took around twenty minutes. The cabby slowed the vehicle and pulled over to the curb. "Süleymaniye Mosque," he said and nodded out the passenger window. I looked over and saw the massive building that had snuck up next to us without me even noticing. "Twenty-five," the driver said.
"I thought you said sixteen?"
He shrugged. "Estimate." He knew that English word all right.
I paid him his money and left the cab. Before me was the late medieval Ottoman colossal. I thought, this damn thing better be here. Yes, I was there to hopefully save lives, but I was also there to find the Book of Thoth, if the opportunity presented itself. My desire to locate the ancient book was invigorated once I stood in front of the reincarnation of King Solomon's temple.
The structures around the mosque were capped with domes. I spotted the five pillars of Islam standing tall: Shahada, Salah, Zakah, Sawm, and Hajj. They reminded me of the stakes in Bertók 's yard. Stakes rising from the ground and mangled bodies twisted and pierced.
There was a line of Muslim men waiting to go inside the massive structure. They had probably just made some formidable pilgrimage to the holy shrine in order to pay their respects to Allah as well as the Magnificent Sully.
The first thing I saw inside the interior of the mosque was breathtaking. It was a single room that was exceptionally open with very low hanging lamps suspended on poles that formed several hoops. There were several domes making up the ceiling surrounding a much larger dome, which appeared to be the central point of the room. That dome, in particular, had a balcony that stretched across its circumference along with many windows that opened up to the outside sky and several paintings that consisted of beautifully bloomed flowers. Coming down from the central point of the dome was the main pole that held the central hoop of lamps to which all other hoops were formed around, making up a spherical multi-layered chandelier.
I wanted to walk into the center of the room but there was a metal grating blocking off a squared section of tiled floor directly under the large dome. I spotted an official looking man standing next to the grating, watching everyone intently. There were several other men on their hands and knees, facing east and praying.
This is going to be tricky, I told myself. I wasn't sure what exactly to look for in there. My preconceived notion was that I would find a library of books lining the walls or a section dedicated to holy books. But there was nothing of that sort. There really wasn't a whole lot inside except for a couple of benches and a few pillars. I did find one wooden bookshelf but it only contained religious texts that were published during the last century. There was nothing whatsoever that hinted there might be something hidden inside the room.
I walked around and looked at everything again, trying to remember as much as I could about the Temple of Solomon and where the Ark of the Covenant was kept. My eyes routinely returned to the chandelier dangling just above my head. It was so odd and so defined. I wondered what it meant; all of the circles surrounding a large circle in the center of the room. I then wondered if it was mentioned that the Temple of Solomon had circles in the main room. I couldn't remember anything like that but I was pretty sure the Ark was stored in the middle of the temple. The problem, however, was that there was nothing in the middle of the mosque. Even though the floor was grated off, it was empty. But everything seemed to be centered around the middle of the room.
And then it struck me: The Well of Souls.
I suddenly recalled an old myth about Solomon's Temple having a hole in the ground known as The Well of Souls. It supposedly had many meanings; including being where souls of the unborn resided, but the one that smacke
d me upside the head was the theory that the Ark of the Covenant was stored there, down inside the earth. Could it be that Süleyman buried the most prized treasure inside the center of the room? I stood there wondering and realized I had no way of finding out for sure. Besides, I was there to warn people, not to go digging up the place.
"Excuse me sir," I said in Arabic to the official standing by the grating. "Do you speak Arabic? Can you understand me?"
The man looked confused by my question and said something before shaking his head no.
I realized that communicating with him was going to be tricky. I had no idea how to warn him that death was coming his way. "Okay"—I tried again— "there are men who are going to try and break in here."
The guard furrowed his brow and folded his arms. I think he said: "What are you talking about?"
I didn't know how to explain that these men were looking for an ancient book, so I decided to keep it simple. "Dangerous men are going to try and rob this place."
He then said what sounded like: "Are you making a threat?"
"Not me," I tried to clarify, "Others! Men with guns are going to try and steal valuables from here."
The man placed a hand on his holstered pistol and said: "It's time for you to leave. This is a holy place for worship, not a place for making threats."
Somehow I wasn't getting through to him. "I'm not making threats. Other people want to steal things from here. They are coming!"
The man began moving me toward the door. I think he was saying: "You are mistaken. There is nothing to steal. This is a holy place. Be gone!"
By that point I could see that everyone in the room was watching me. I considered shouting for all of them to get out but thought better of it. The guard probably would have shot me. Besides, I had no idea when Hansen and his goons would attack—if they were going to attack.
"Be gone!" he shouted again. "Go in peace! Be gone!" He was shoving me now. "Be gone! This is a place of worship!"
I went to give another verbal argument when I noticed one of the faces in the crowd.
At first I had hoped my eyes were deceiving me but I quickly realized they were not. The man, who was dark skinned, blended in very well and was completely inconspicuous. The only reason why I noticed him was because he was the only one not paying attention to me. While everyone else was staring at the scene, this man was looking down at the ground, studying it. I saw another man pretending to not be looking. He had actually walked in right before me. He was casually walking on the opposite side of the room from the black man. And then, like ghosts, more suspicious faces materialized in the crowd of worshippers. I saw a husky white man, a Spanish looking man, and another unknown white guy. And that was when I saw him: Gregory Hansen. He was straight ahead of me, across the mosque floor. He wasn't pretending like the rest. He was smiling.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Much was happening outside Corbin's home unbeknownst to Rebecca, or anyone else inside for that matter. She remained on the bed and brushed her hair from her eyes as she repositioned her body from sitting upright to laying down on her stomach. She was completely enthralled with what was happening inside the manuscript, almost completely forgetting about where she was or why she was there.
William was very close to getting the manuscript but now it seemed that Bertók's men were waiting for him. William wrote that there was a thunderous explosion inside the mosque followed by chaotic shouting and cries. It wasn't until the smoke cleared that he actually saw what was happening. Hansen's men had blown a hole in the floor and removed a medium sized trunk from within. William followed the men outside and into what he described as a firefight. Rebecca didn't immediately understand the term until she read a little further. Hansen and his men were met by Istanbul police and the two groups began shooting at each other:
*******
Hansen's men were spread out and behind various structures. There were about ten or fifteen policemen across the way, hiding behind their vehicles and whatever else they could find. I saw several bodies laying on the ground. Three of them were police and the fourth looked like one of Hansen's guys. None of them were moving. The two men with the trunk had disengaged the fight and were trying to slip away behind a stone wall.
*******
Coulee followed the two men with the trunk while trying to avoid getting shot. The men stopped and began shooting at the police. William wrote that one of the men was shot a couple of times before he crumbled to the ground and died. The other man, who turned out to be Hansen, removed his hood and picked up the trunk with his own strength.
*******
I ran through the opening and toward the wall where the dead mercenary laid. Hansen struggled to make it to his getaway car while carrying the trunk. I could see that his driver had been shot a few times and was slumped over the steering wheel. Hansen opened the door and pulled the body out just as another burst of bullets tore through. Hansen screamed in pain and fell back onto the seat. He emptied his clip on whomever then pulled the trunk up and into the car. Hansen struggled to get the box over into the passenger seat before gassing the car. It had a blown tire and kicked up sparks from the rim.
I ran at an angle to try and cut in front of him. Hansen drove the car right at me. I moved out of the way to avoid being run down and reached out in an attempt to grab the passenger door. My hand caught the window frame and I was yanked forward. My legs were moving faster than they were designed to and just before they completely gave out I managed to pull myself half inside.
"Get the fuck out of here!" Hansen shouted while trying to shove my face back.
I wiggled my way further inside and grabbed a hold of his arm.
"Get off me!" he shouted again, his thrashing around helped pull me completely inside and on top of the trunk. I saw that his machine gun was pinned under the trunk and was no threat. Hansen's fist, however, was fully active and in use. He punched me in the eye and along the left side of my jaw. Because of how I was positioned, I had no leverage, therefore I was powerless to fight back. All I could do was take it.
Hansen slammed into a wall along the right side. The jolt slid me onto the dashboard. My weight splintered the windshield's glass. Hansen reared back and unloaded a barrage of punches onto me and shouted: "Get out of here!"
It was then that something clicked inside of me: I was truly in a fight for survival. My instincts took over and I acted on complete impulse. I slammed my right elbow into the windshield and punctured a large hole. I used my right hand and broke off a large shard of glass. Bleeding, I swung it in a long arch toward Hansen's head, slicing his throat. I pulled myself off the dashboard and took the wheel. We were heading straight for an intersection. Hansen used his free hand to grab the back of my hair and yanked. I followed the momentum and slammed my head into his face repeatedly while he gargled for air.
"Stop the car!" I yelled but Hansen only sped it up. He must have been flooring the pedal because the engine was revving to the point of exploding. The intersection in front of us not only had idling cars but there was a flood of vehicles running perpendicular. I turned the wheel and narrowly missed the first car and entered the intersection.
We were hit on the rear driver side.
The crash was spectacularly loud and we spun out three times before coming to a stop against another car across the way.
Dizzy as all hell, I rolled off Hansen and looked at his face. His eyes were open but there was no life left in them. His shirt was completely soaked with blood.
Swarms of onlookers filled the street and were pointing and shouting in my direction. I climbed out the passenger door and reached back inside for the trunk. I didn't know how much time I had before the police arrived. The trunk was stuck between the seat and the dashboard. I couldn't get it to budge. I tried jarring the trunk several times before giving up. The latch to the trunk was exposed so I decided to flip it open. I was able to lift the lid just far enough to see inside. The chest had a single box made from onyx. On its lid was a b
rass looking snake eating its tail: the ouroboros. I reached in and pulled it out.
*******
Rebecca continued with William's description of how he got away. After finding the box, William wrote that he ran away from the scene as fast as he could. He went for several blocks before hailing a taxi to take him to Atatürk Airport; where Vermil's private plane was waiting.
*******
Captain Martin Jackson was waiting for me in the main lobby when I passed through the revolving doors. "Is everything alright? Word just passed through that there was a terrorist attack on the Süleymaniye Mosque. The news report said something about an explosion and a shoot out with police."
I told him we needed to get going, now. I told him he would hear everything once we were in the air. Captain Jackson seemed satisfied with that and began moving at a quickened pace. He escorted me through security and to the ground level terminal door. A jet had just taken off a moment earlier and the air was filled with the reverb from its engines.
I saw Mr. Vermil's plane over by one of the hangars. It was still fueling. "How long until we can get off the ground?"
Captain Jackson looked at his watch and said: "Hopefully no more than ten minutes. They were supposed to be done by now. Go ahead and board and I will get a better estimate."
There were no arguments from me.
*******
Rebecca stopped reading, as there was a knock on the bedroom door. Corbin walked inside; his face seemed to be more relaxed than when she last saw him. Apparently he had made peace with whatever decision. He asked: "How are you?"
Rebecca wasn't sure how to answer. "Fine, I guess. Have you come to terms with the situation?"
Corbin lowered his eyes and sat down onto the bed next to her. "Based on everything I heard tonight," he said after some hesitation, "I believe that the manuscript is authentic. However, I still want to conduct further tests on it to ensure that this is the correct assessment."
That surprised Rebecca, especially considering the man responsible for apprehending him, William Coulee, just so happened to be the author (even though it was from another time and possibly another place). Rebecca saw that her biological father was a man capable of separating his emotions from his logic. She only wished that the same could be said for her. "So are we going to reconvene?" Rebecca asked.
The Sinner King: Book of Fire Page 32