17
Galata Tower
North of the Golden Horn
Istanbul, Turkey
19 March 2010
‘You’d better be worth all this trouble.’
Lourds looked up from his notebook at Cleena. ‘As far as I’m concerned, you started all this.’
They were sitting in the café near the top of the Galata Tower. Several European and Asian tourists occupied the tables near the windows overlooking the Golden Horn and other historic parts of the city. Lourds couldn’t help but think about the microcosm of East and West meeting inside the café being a reflection of what went on in the city on the other side of the three-foot thick walls. And those meetings had been going on for generations. Some things never changed. Well, didn’t change much, actually. The Galata Tower had also been known as the Christea Turris by the Genoese, which translated into the Tower of Christ. The Byzantines had named it Megalos Pyrgos, the Great Tower, because the cone-shaped stone capping had been – and remained – one of the most recognizable landmarks in the city.
The Genoese had built the tower in 1348 when they’d been expanding their holdings within the city. It had been originally planned as a defensive enhancement, then served as housing for the Janissaries, the elite Turkish Army corps, and later as a jail for war prisoners. Over the years the tower had needed reconstruction a number of times. Partially destroyed by fires and storms, it had lost its cone-shaped top in 1875 and that hadn’t been replaced until a restoration in 1967.
Hezarfen Ahmet Celebi, an early aviator, had glided from the tower over the Bosphorus to the Uskudar foothills in the Anatolian half of the city. That had happened some time around 1632.
Lourds couldn’t imagine launching himself with a pair of wings from the tower. Of course, he couldn’t imagine himself running from gun thugs, either. But throwing oneself from the tower was a conscious decision. Running in the face of death was more of an instinct. As always, he thought about the ancient aviator and respected the man’s drive to discover flight.
The view was wonderful, overlooking the harbour as well as most of the historic old city and several of the most worshipped – literally – sites. Lourds had enjoyed it on several occasions. At the moment, he was more concerned about police intervention. Given a second running gunbattle, he felt certain the Turkish authorities would kick him out of the country as an undesirable. Politely, of course.
Until everything got sorted.
Lourds hoped to have the mystery of the book – Books, he amended, feeling the time crunch of others working on the transcription as well – in hand before the authorities caught up with him. Olympia was on the phone to someone she thought could hide them for a few days but hadn’t seen fit to mention who it was. Matters weren’t helped by the fact that Professor Olympia Adnan was also being sought by the police at present. Several enterprising students at the university had caught the raid on the university on their phones and PDAs. Many of those clips had shown up on YouTube and the local television networks were broadcasting the story.
Cleena sat on the other side of the table and gazed up at the television behind the bar. ‘It’s you everyone is after.’
Lourds tried to turn his attention back to his work, but Cleena sat across from him and he was too aware of her gender to ignore her. He looked back at her and watched as she calmly ate a piece of kabak mucveri, Turkish zucchini fritters, and sipped her bottled water.
‘All right.’ Turning his attention back to the manuscript, Lourds focused on his transcription once more. Sulking he could deal with. Sulking meant silence. Silence meant-
‘I can’t see how you don’t want to talk about this.’ Exasperation tightened Cleena’s voice.
Lourds glanced at her in bewilderment.
‘You said you didn’t want to talk about this,’ he pointed out.
‘I don’t.’
‘All right.’
‘But we have to. That doesn’t mean I’m going to enjoy it.’
Sighing, knowing he wasn’t going to be allowed any peace if he didn’t listen to her and take whatever misery she wished to dole out, Lourds leaned back in his chair and took a sip of his beer. He’d opted for Elfes Pilsen, a local lager brewed in Izmir that he’d found particularly pleasing.
‘Do you realize the trouble you’re in?’ she asked.
‘You mean with the local police?’ Lourds countered. ‘Or the United States State Department, who I suspect is working with the local CIA? Or Qayin and his troops? Or the paramilitary unit that tried to kill us at the university a few minutes ago. I can’t guess at who they might be working for. That trouble?’
Cleena hesitated. ‘Yes. That trouble.’
Lourds studied her. ‘You’ve already known about this trouble. There’s something you’re not telling me.’
Cleena leaned back and broke eye contact. ‘No there’s not.’
‘Why were you at the university today?’
‘I told you. I was tailing you.’
‘For whom?’
‘No one.’
‘I don’t believe you were there on your own.’
‘Why?’ Fire glinted in Cleena’s eyes. ‘Don’t you think I’m smart enough to figure out there’s a pay out involved in this?’ She flicked her gaze at the book. ‘I’m just here for a share in the profits.’
Lourds placed a hand on the book. ‘You haven’t tried to take it.’
Cleena looked sullen but didn’t say anything.
‘My guess is that you haven’t a clue about whom to take this to in order to sell it. Or even what it’s worth.’
‘I could sell it to Qayin.’
Lourds smiled. ‘And he proved so trustworthy the first time.’
She said a particularly bad word only loud enough for Lourds to hear her.
‘And I don’t think the men back at the university are looking for more partners,’ Lourds said. ‘Not to mention the fact that you’ve pretty much burned that bridge by shooting a few of them.’
‘There are other collectors.’
‘A collector wouldn’t be interested in this manuscript unless he-’
‘Or she.’
Lourds acknowledged the response with a nod, but he knew she only delivered it to be more annoying. ‘Or she knew the story behind the book. Which you also don’t know.’
Cleena grimaced at him. ‘Enjoying your little secrets, Professor?’
‘I think we all are.’ He took another sip of his beer and leaned across the table. ‘And then there is the matter of the little friend in your ear. Want to tell me about him? Or her?’
She drained her water bottle and stood. ‘I’m going to get a refill. Want one?’
‘Please. If you think you can refrain from spitting in it.’
‘Actually, I hadn’t thought about it. Until now.’ She headed for the bar.
Lourds watched her go and admired the twitch of her lean hips. The motion was definitely hypnotic and intriguing.
Olympia slid into the chair next to him and shook her head. ‘My God, Thomas. You haven’t changed a whit. Here we are running for our lives, not to mention that you’ve been keeping me company in bed the last few days, and you’re ogling that young girl as though this was your last day on earth.’
‘Sorry.’ Lourds felt his face flush with heat. ‘Ogling is one of those male traits that I’m afraid is hardwired into every cell of my being. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful.’
She smiled at him. ‘No disrespect taken. I’ve known what you were from the day I met you. That’s been part of the attraction, actually.’
Lourds lifted an enquiring eyebrow.
‘A red-blooded male who doesn’t feel the need to take over or change your life is the dream of many professional women,’ Olympia explained. ‘The fact that you’re a tender and caring lover is a bonus.’
‘Well, I’m glad you feel that way.’
‘What I don’t understand is how you can let some lovely little girl twist your head round when you should be concentrating on keeping it firmly on your shoulders. After all, there seems to be no shortage of people willing to remove it for you.’