***
Reilly drove while Tess took on the role of navigator. She was using an assortment of maps and notes to try and retrace the route Al-Idrissi mentioned in his journals while reconciling it with elements gleaned from Aimard's letter.
As the shore dropped away behind them, the densely packed houses and low-rise apartment buildings quickly gave way to a calmer landscape. Huge swathes of the Lycian coastline had been protected as conservation areas before the airport at Dalaman was built, sparing the area from the blight of mass-market resorts. Tess and Reilly quickly found themselves driving through a more pastoral setting of older properties, fronted by rough stone walls and rusty wrought-iron fences and shaded by pine trees. On both sides of the road, the land appeared rich and fertile, dense with shrubs, and dotted with clusters of trees. On the higher ground to their right, the cover thickened.
It took less than an hour to reach Koycegiz, a small town resting on the edge of a large, mystical lake that once formed a natural harbor. Carian cliff tombs, intricately carved into the rocky hills bordering the lake and strikingly well preserved, loomed down on them somberly, a reminder of one of the many civilizations that had settled in this region.
About two miles beyond the town, Tess directed Reilly to turn off the main road. The asphalt was cracked and potholed; the journey from here
on would be rougher, but for the time being the Pajero's rugged suspension was taking it in stride.
They drove past olive and lemon groves, past cornfields and tomato plantations on roads lined by frankincense trees, the vibrant colors and smells helping to awaken their dulled, jet-lagged senses.
Then they were climbing again, into densely forested hills dotted with the occasional sleepy village.
All around them were the poor, primitive, and picturesque reminders of a way of life that was over a thousand years old, a living history long since gone from the more prosperous West. Serendipitous sights emerged to greet them as they pressed on: a girl spinning wool with a weight as she herded her sheep; a laden wood-gatherer dwarfed by his tall and unwieldy load; a brace of oxen pulling a tree-trunk plow under the setting sun.
From time to time, Tess would get very excited as she found extracts from Al-Idrissi's journal that matched their progress. Mostly, though, her thoughts were not so much about that traveler's journey, but were instead drawn to the surviving knights who had trudged desperately across these lands all those years ago.
By now, the light had faded and the SUV's headlights were helping guide the way. The road had degenerated into a narrow, rock-strewn path.
"I think we should call it a day," Reilly said.
Tess consulted her map. "It can't be far. I'd say we're about twenty, thirty miles away."
"Maybe, but it's getting dark, and I wouldn't want to hit a rock or something and risk breaking an axle out here."
She was eager to reach their destination but, as he maneuvered the Pajero onto a fairly level patch of ground, she had to concede that he was right. Even a flat tire would be bad news.
They both climbed out and looked around. The last, faint traces of the setting sun glowed from behind wisps of pink-gray clouds in an otherwise clear sky. Overhead, the waxing crescent of the moon seemed unnaturally close. The mountains around them were still and deserted, enshrouded by a disconcerting quiet he wasn't used to. "Any towns nearby we can stay in?"
She checked her map again. "Nothing close. Last one was about seven miles back."
Reilly made a quick visual check of the area's vulnerabilities and decided it was as good as any for an overnight stop. He headed for the SUV's rear door. "Let's see what our man in Istanbul's got for us."
****
While Reilly was busy putting in the last of the aluminum struts and setting up the tent, Tess had managed to get a small fire going. They were soon working their way hungrily through the case of supplies Ertugrul had provided, washing down slices of basterma sausages and kasseri cheese boreks with botded mineral water.
Reilly watched Tess's eyes beam with delight as she opened a small carton and pulled out a piece of lokma, wolfing it down, her fingers dripping with syrup.
"This local guy of yours is a godsend," she managed before popping another piece into her mouth.
"Try these, they're delicious. I couldn't get enough of them the last time I was here. It didn't help that I was pregnant at the time."
"So what brought Vance out here?" he asked as he sampled a piece.
"My dad was working on a dig not too far from the Ararat Anomaly. Vance was desperate to have a look, and my dad invited him in." Tess explained how in 1959, a U-2 spy plane on its way back from a reconnaissance flight over the then Soviet Union flew over Turkey and took some images that intrigued the CIA's photo analysts for years. Word eventually leaked out and, in the late nineties, the pictures were finally released, causing a small sensation. Way up in the Armenian mountains, not far below the summit, was something that looked like a ship. Close-ups revealed what appeared to be three large curved wooden beams, resembling part of the hull of a large vessel.
"Noah's Ark," Reilly said as he flashed back to vague headlines in the press.
"A lot of people were fascinated by it, my dad included. Trouble was, even when the Cold War began to thaw, the area was still very sensitive. The mountain's only twelve miles from the Russian border, less than twenty to Iran. A few people were granted permission and tried to climb up to see what it really was. James Irwin was one. The astronaut. Walked on the moon, and later became a serious convert to Christianity. He tried to climb up for a closer look at the anomaly." She paused.
"On his second attempt, he fell and died."
Reilly frowned. "So what do you think? Is it really Noah's Ark?"
"The consensus says it isn't. Just a curious rock formation."
"But what do you think?"
"I don't know. No one's actually reached it or touched it. What we do know is a story of a flood and a man with a boat and with a whole bunch of animals, it's in writings going all the way back to Mesopotamia, writings that predate the Bible by thousands of years. Which makes me think that maybe something like that really did happen. Not that the whole world was flooded. Just a big area somewhere in this part of the world. And one man survived it and his tale passed into legend."
Something in the way she said it seemed so definite, so final. Not that he necessarily believed in Noah's Ark, but . . . "It's fanny," he said.
"What?"
"I would have thought archaeologists, of all people, would be drawn to the mysteries of the past with more of an open mind than others, with a sense of wonder about what could have happened at a time that's so distant and removed from what we have today . . . and yet your approach is so rational and analytical. Doesn't it take away from the, I don't know, the magic of it?"
She didn't seem to see anything paradoxical about it. "I'm a scientist, Sean. I'm like you, I deal in hard facts. When I go out and dig, I look for evidence about how people lived and died and fought wars and built cities . . . myths and legends I leave to others."
"So if it can't be scientifically explained . . . ?"
"Then it probably didn't happen." She set down the box of lokmas and wiped her face with a napkin before stretching back lazily and rolling over to face him. "I need to ask you something."
"Shoot."
"Back at JFK."
"Yeah ..."
"How come you didn't pull me off that plane? You could have arrested me, right? Why didn't you?"
From the vaguest hint of a smile and the glint in her eyes, he knew what she was getting at. She was taking the lead, which was just as well given his grating hesitation to move in that direction himself.