Golden Chariot Read online

  “No. You heard everything I said. But, I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.”

  “That’s what the Trojans said,” Atakan warned, straight faced.

  Charlotte and Nick twisted in their seats. Ursula and Uma waved and began to make their way to the table.

  Jeff slid his chair back and started in their direction. “In the words of Stephen Stills, ‘love the one you’re with,’” he said, as he passed by Charlotte.

  She was glad for Jeff. He’d have fun with Ursula. On the other hand, Uma’s appearance was a drag.

  “Don’t you dare encourage Uma to sit here,” Charlotte elbowed Nick hard in the ribs.

  “Why not? She’s hot, in an electric, finger-in-a-socket, sort of way.”

  “Oh please, she’s a punk version of the Sorcerer’s Apprentice. I can’t stand her. She’s always creeping around. It gives me the willies.”

  “Shh.”

  Jeff invited the sisters to join them, offering Ursula his chair, which she accepted. Nick rose and gave his seat to Uma, ignoring the ugly face Charlotte gave him behind Uma’s back.

  The waiter brought two more chairs to the table.

  Trays of food, mixes of different dishes were ordered. Everyone sampled a little of each, except Charlotte, who greedily scarfed down all the hummus.

  Uma cloaked her snarky observation of Charlotte’s appetite for the dish behind a sweet voiced offer. “How you’ve devoured that, quite the piggy at the trough. I make excellent hummus. I will make some special for you.”

  “Please, don’t. If you make a dish, then do it for the group. It wouldn’t look right to sneak off with a dish of my own, don’t want to get caught with my snout in the bowl.”

  “You’re sure?” Uma ran a slow hand up and down Nick’s back as she talked.

  He moaned when she stroked his spine and scooted his chair closer, to Charlotte’s disgust.

  “Yeah, I’m sure, but thanks anyway.”

  Uma turned to Nick and squeezed his bicep with her fingertips. “You’re very strong. What do you do for a living?”

  “Jeff and I are cops-SWAT to be exact.”

  “SWAT, I’m impressed.”

  “Tell us about some of the dangerous criminals you’ve arrested,” Ursula asked Jeff. She looked almost girlish.

  The request opened a Pandora’s Box of war stories. Nick and Jeff went back and forth trying to agree on which incident to tell first.

  Charlotte sipped her wine between bites of food. She finished the kebab she’d been nibbling and caught Atakan’s eye as she reached for the wine to pour a second glass. He grabbed the bottle first and corked it. Like a waiter, he slid the stems of their glasses between his fingers, underhand, and pushed his chair back.

  “Let’s go for a walk,” he said.

  Glad to get away from Uma and tales of cops and robbers, Charlotte quickly agreed. SWAT stories didn’t hold the same entertainment value for her as they did for most people. The stories scared her. She hated to see news clips of cops in pursuits, let alone shootouts, or hostage situations. Her mother was worse.

  Nick reassured both of them he was well trained and paid strict adherence to the officer safety rules. “You’ve nothing to worry about.” He promised if the day came when he couldn’t handle the work either physically or mentally, he’d ask for reassignment.

  Time and promises didn’t ease Charlotte’s worries. In her travels, she’d seen churches of many denominations, great catholic cathedrals, humble protestant chapels of stone, and blue-domed, white-washed Greek orthodox churches. She visited them for their history or their architectural interest. In each, if possible, she lit a candle for Nick and Jeff. She wasn’t religious or superstitious. It was a silly practice. There was no scientific proof the ritual worked, but she wanted to believe it might help.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Can we walk along the water?”

  “That was my intention.” Atakan led Charlotte out a rear door.

  They walked in silence past a handful of economy hotels. Beyond the roof of the last one, the glow from the village lights shrouded the dark hills in a milky haze.

  Atakan stopped at a weathered and rickety looking pier where only the local fishing boats were tied. Three fishermen sat on the bow of the Deniz Yagmacisi, the Sea Raider. From the rust streaks and peeling paint, the glory days of the “Raider” ceased long ago. A lantern hung on a hook and lit the bow. Its frayed cord was duct taped to the plug of another frayed cord, which connected to the generator. Cigarette smoke engulfed the rail-thin men on deck. They laughed and chatted, unconcerned over the flurry of ashes falling onto the alphabet tiles of their OK game.

  Atakan interrupted them and asked if they could spare a blanket. The thinnest of the men eyed Charlotte, grinned, and said yes. She stepped up to catch it. The fisherman ignored her and tossed a knitted throw to Atakan who caught it one-handed.

  Together she and Atakan spread the blanket over the rough edge at the end of the pier. They made themselves comfortable, setting the wine between them and letting their legs dangle.

  Charlotte listened to the water lap against the pilings and the rhythm of the waves beyond the jetty. All the hours she spent in and around the water, she rarely stopped to listen to it. The opening bars of Waterloo drifted over to the dock drowning out the water.

  She turned toward the beach hotel where the music came from. A Speedo wearing disc-jockey worked the turntable on the patio. Tourists packed the space dancing and singing to the ABBA tune.

  Charlotte swayed in time to the song and softly sang along to the lyrics. ABBA was one of her mother’s favorite bands. Growing up, she’d heard their music a lot.

  “Here.” Atakan tapped her arm with the wine glass. “Madonna, now ABBA. It must be oldies night.”

  “Thank you,” Charlotte said, taking the glass. “The DJ’s playing ABBA because everyone likes to dance to them. You dance?” She was pretty certain she knew the answer but asked anyway. You never know, people are full of surprises. And, it was a day of surprises.

  “No. You?”

  She shook her head.

  “Never?”

  “A couple of times in college. It wasn’t pretty.”

  She swallowed a sip of wine before asking him what was really on her mind. “Why’d you invite me for a walk?” As bizarre as the day was so far, nothing he said could make it any weirder.

  “You looked uncomfortable. I thought you’d enjoy a temporary escape.”

  “I was. I don’t like hearing about Nick’s job.”

  “Or some of the company at the table either.”

  “True.”

  Take his explanation at face value and leave personal feelings out of the conversation. That was the smart play. Instead she blurted, “I must say, I find your desire to rescue me an interesting twist since you don’t like me.” It was the vibe she got from him.

  A brief look of surprise crossed Atakan’s face. “I don’t dislike you. Why do you think this?”

  She’d opened her big mouth. Now she had to explain.

  “Until today, you’ve never gone out of your way to talk to me except to discuss matters related to the recovery. You’re more relaxed with the other team members. You laugh and talk easily with them. I can’t help but notice.”

  “That bothers you?”

  Yeah, it bothered her. In truth, their relationship need only be courteous and professional. Still, every once in awhile it stung.

  “Your antipathy is understandable. I’m a reminder of Ekrem’s death,” she said, skipping a direct answer.

  “You’re right and wrong. First, let me disabuse you of your belief about Ekrem. Your presence is not the reminder. He was like a brother to me. His absence in my life is the reminder of my loss.”

  The pain behind his words made her wish she hadn’t brought Ekrem up.

  “As to this project, I avoid the deep comradeship that forms with many teams. I’m friends only with Refik and Talat.” Atakan went on, “I keep
a necessary distance. My conversations with the other men are casual and superficial.”

  “Because of your job?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you envy the comradeship?”

  “No. The integrity of the site and artifacts are my sole concern. If either is compromised or Ministry rules violated, I must take action.”

  She understood the difficulty of his position. “Stay objective---don’t get close.”

  “Yes.”

  “What about the women?” She wondered why he only mentioned his dealings with the male team members.

  “If you noticed, I don’t socialize as much with them as the men.”

  She had but wasn’t going to admit it. “You ever find yourself attracted to the women you work with?”

  “Ministry rep. or no, I’m still a man,” he said, with a chuckle. “Of course, there are women I am drawn to, but I don’t act on my interest.”

  She’d love to ask him what sort of woman he was drawn to. She would if she thought he’d give her a straight answer. But he’d probably never tell another woman. He’d tap dance around the question with some esoteric, non-committal dodge.

  “Again, maintaining your distance is more expedient for enforcement purposes,” she said, playing a neutral role. “Plus, with women, there are often messy, emotional loose ends if things go wrong.”

  “For one. Also, I am a private man. If I showed favoritism, tongues would wag. I refrain from such childishness.”

  Good point. Like this one, everyone on her previous recovery team was fairly young. They worked and lived closely together. Men...women—things happen. It didn’t take long for intimate relationships to form, then split up and the lovers to move onto another. The adult version of musical chairs.

  “I’m glad to know your distance isn’t personal or related to Ekrem. However, this rescue effort tonight...” With a sweeping, open-handed gesture, Charlotte indicated their intimacy. “Your rule about women and gossip is down the toilet. We’re both grist for the rumor mill now. Uma and Ursula will tell everyone you and I wandered off together.”

  “No doubt,” he said, matter-of-factly.

  “Yet, in spite of your gossip phobia you asked me out here. What’s the real reason other than I looked uncomfortable?”

  “I wanted to talk to you in private. Wagging tongues weren’t as important.”

  “Shoot.”

  “When you went to change clothes, did you mention where we were going to Uma or Ursula?”

  “No, they weren’t around. No one was. Even if they had been, I didn’t know the name of the hotel. I ran into Ursula walking back to the kitchen. Why?”

  “I find it strange they just happened to wind up here.”

  “How so? It’s not a long drive. The village is cute. The bar is nice. It’s certainly popular.”

  “It’s popular with tourists. In my experience, these teams, when they leave the camp, eat and drink locally. There’s a café within walking distance. If they wanted to go out of the area why come to Bozburun? There are closer villages.”

  What was he getting at? She thought about the surprise appearance of the twins. She considered the extent Atakan went to, to bring the matter up with her in private.

  “You think they came here because we did?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry, but I’m not seeing why that disturbs you. I guess they wanted to see Nick and Jeff.”

  “I believe this was more than a hook-up.”

  Hook-up? Hearing Atakan use the term sidetracked her. It was so out of character. He never used slang. He always came across as a bit of a stiff. She couldn’t decide if that was part of his personality or if it resulted from learning the more formal version of English in school. Where’d he learn this particular colloquialism? She swung her legs around and sat cross-legged opposite him.

  “Wait, wait, wait. Time out.” She jabbed her fingers to her palm, like a quarterback facing fourth and inches. “Hook-up? You need blab, boozer, and butt-head explained, but you know ‘hook-up’?”

  “Sex and the City was my ex-girlfriend’s favorite show.”

  The thought of Atakan sitting through the sitcom was perversely funny. “Sex and the City. Sweet,” she said, smirking.

  “You’re laughing at me.”

  “You know, it’s considered a chick show in America.”

  “I was trying to get along.”

  “Very open-minded, I’m impressed,” she said with exaggerated sincerity. “I can picture you sharing the sofa, listening to Sarah Jessica Parker and the rest rattle on about shoes and pubic waxes.”

  “I never said I watched. I said it was my girlfriend’s favorite show. I overheard the term while I busied myself with other tasks. Can we get back to Uma and Ursula? If they simply wanted to join us they could’ve asked. They didn’t. How’d they find us?”

  Fun talk over, Charlotte returned to the subject. Without foreknowledge and eliminating the illogical, like coincidence, she didn’t have a good explanation. Atakan’s questions suggested one answer was obvious.

  “They had to follow us.”

  Chapter 17

  Now that Atakan pointed it out, the appearance of the twins nagged Charlotte. Why hadn’t Ursula asked to join the group when she had the chance? Jeff gave her the opportunity. He’d made his interest obvious. She’d returned his flirtation in that joking way women do when they’re not planning for things to go further. What changed? What prompted Ursula to pursue him?

  Atakan swallowed the rest of his wine in one gulp. “We should get back.”

  Charlotte nodded and finished her wine.

  They gathered the glasses and bottle and returned the blanket to the fishermen.

  “You didn’t comment on my deduction they followed us. What’s your thought? Why?” Charlotte asked as they walked back.

  “Nothing to say, other than I agree. I’m puzzled as to why myself.”

  When they reached the bar, Atakan handed the empty bottle and glasses to a waiter serving the outdoor tables. “Go ahead inside,” he said. “I’ll join you in a minute.”

  Charlotte started for the door, then turned. “Since we’re talking about how Uma and Ursula arrived here, we need to figure out how we’re getting to camp. Nick can’t take us. He’ll never find his way back on these country roads.”

  “The hotel has a private car and driver for hire. I’ll book them after I make a call.”

  “What if Uma and Ursula want to ride too?”

  “You really think they want to return tonight?” Atakan asked as though speaking to a child.

  “The logistics of staying is at best, difficult. The room has only twin beds.” Some observations don’t require a verbal response. The ‘you can’t be that naïve’ look Atakan gave her came across loud and clear.

  “Ursula’s a good distraction for Jeff. He can use it tonight.”

  Did Atakan know what happened? “Meaning?” she asked, testing him.

  “Do I need to say?”

  “How’d you know? You were busy at the front desk.”

  “I’m not blind. I can talk to the clerk and be aware of my surroundings. I noticed your private conversation and the body language. Nor am I deaf. I heard what he said to you at the table.”

  “I never meant to hurt him.”

  “He’ll get over it. Ursula’s a good start.”

  “She has a rich lover. She might not want to ‘close the deal’ with Jeff,” Charlotte reasoned. “Uma and Nick...ugh.” She wrinkled her nose emphasizing her distaste.

  Atakan ignored the face. “Close the deal?”

  Charlotte opened her mouth to explain, but he cut her off. “Never mind, I get the implication. Ursula’s lover isn’t around, if you take my meaning. As to Uma and your brother, it didn’t look like she was forcing herself on him.”

  “Yeah well...”

  “What do you care? They’re having a good time together, not getting married. Leave him alone.”

  “Fine. Whateve
r. Go, make your call,” she said and went inside.

  He moved to the corner of the patio, out from under the light of overhead lanterns that lit the space. He watched the foursome as Charlotte rejoined them. The lively conversation continued after she sat down. Of the four at the table, only Ursula turned and looked through the windows where he’d just stood.

  The same waiter who took their wine glasses passed by and Atakan waved him over.

  “Sir?”

  “Were you working this afternoon?”

  “Since lunch, yes.”

  “See the two blonde women at that table.”

  The waiter nodded.

  “Did you happen to see them here earlier, before they joined our party?”

  “Yes, I served them here on the patio shortly before you entered the bar. The spiky hair one,” he jerked his chin Uma’s direction and said with disgust, “she paid. No gratuity. Euro-trash.” The irritation left his face and he asked, “Can I get you a drink?”

  “No, thanks.”

  The young waiter plastered a smile on his face and hustled to a table of plump, middle-aged, inebriated female tourists.

  Atakan walked to the front of the hotel, away from the rooms and their patios, where he wouldn’t be overheard. He dialed the Director at home.

  “It’s late. I’m sure you have a reason for this call,” Firat said.

  “I need a check on Uma and Ursula Schweiger.”

  “Ursula Schweiger?” Firat repeated. “I understand she’s Stevan Kryianos’s lover. I don’t personally know him. He’s a close associate of Yasar Ozen, my curator friend. Why do you ask about her?”

  Hearing her lover was a friend of a friend of the Director’s presented a potential complication. Savas Firat was very much a political animal. Kyrianos had no influence with Turkish officials. Yasar Ozen did. He was well connected to powerful people in the Ankara government, including the Minister of Culture, Firat’s boss. If Ozen asked Firat to discourage an investigation of the Schweigers, Atakan suspected the Director might go along. If Ozen went through contacts in Parliament, Atakan was certain Firat would dissuade him from looking at the sisters.