Byzantine Gold (8 page)

“Atakan, no offense, but a lot of people are uncomfortable when government agents are around.”

“Just use extra caution.”

“You watch yourself. I’m not the one who has someone trying to kill them.

“I’ll remain diligent. Are you staying on the Suraya until you’re done with your second dive?”

“No way. I’m coming straight back. I want to be here for
Miz
Valko’s arrival.”

“You worry for nothing. I told you I hold no special feelings for her.”

“Doesn’t mean she doesn’t hold them for you.” Probably wants to hold a lot more than feelings, Charlotte thought.

Behind them a diesel engine chugged near and then sputtered to a stop. 

Atakan kissed her on the cheek and said, “Shuttles here.”

Charlotte grabbed her small backpack with sun block and other personal items and stepped next to Nassor.

“Excited?” she asked.

“Yes,” he replied. He appeared anything but. Arms folded, he leaned against a support for the dock’s overhang, smoking.

Charlotte eyed him, curious as to why not. She was excited. So was Rachel. The Brits and the other Europeans going on this initial dive were fired up. This was the first
in
person
view they had of the ship and cargo. The survey photos were passed around that morning over breakfast. What the team knew and speculation on what they’d find was all they talked about. Refik and Talat had dived numerous wrecks. They were old hands at this. Even they were anxious to get started and raced through their morning meal. Atakan might be on to something with his instinctive suspicion of Nassor.

“I’ll show you where everything is onboard the Suraya,” she said. “Unless, you have questions I can answer while we ride over.”

Nassor didn’t respond.

“Nassor?”

No response.

“Nassor?”

He remained silent, staring at the shuttle like it was a space ship.

“Hey, Jafari.”

Finally, he turned. “Yes.”

“Did you hear what I said?”

“Yes, I heard. I apologize. I have much on my mind.”

“No problem.”

Whether you call him a fish or duck, either way he was odd. That’s twice in a matter of fifteen minutes the guy lost track of time or his surroundings. What the hell?

Chapter Thirteen

Onboard the Suraya, Charlotte and the rest of the divers gathered around the map table in the bridge. Refik spread the site survey marking the grids he and Talat established days prior to everyone’s arrival in Salamis.

In addition to the grids, the survey indicated decompression stops and what the divers referred to as the
telephone booths
. Air filled hemispheres of Plexiglass that kept the diver dry from the waist up. The domed booths had an emergency bottle of oxygen attached to the cables anchoring the booth to the seabed. They also contained a state-of-the-art Buddy Phone, an ultrasonic transceiver allowing the divers to communicate with the surface and vice-versa. Safety and unforeseen logistical issues could be sent topside for advice and adjustments made.

Charlotte’s attention drifted from the survey to a row of new AGA Masks on the bridge’s rear counter. The AGA was a full face mask with a “voice-box,” or VOX feature. The voice operated transmission circuit let the diver speak hands-free. It also gave the divers the ability to talk to each other. They weren’t used on the last project. She’d often lamented the inability to talk to Atakan when they dived. The masks were a fantastic addition.

“Will we use these today?” she asked Refik, pointing to the AGAs.

“No, they’re not needed for the basic work today.”

“Bummer.”

Refik divided the morning teams into two groups. One would finish measuring and gridding off the site. The other, Charlotte’s, would start close-up photography.

She took the twenty-eight millimeter Olympus digital camera, checked for the sim card, and slipped the strap over her head. Rachel partnered with Derek. They took another camera with different lenses, a wide-angle, and a macro zoom lens.

“I thought you and Talat were partners,” Charlotte said low.

“We’ll be together for the afternoon dive. He used his morning underwater time retesting the booths.”

Like the project the previous season, the wreck was at a depth that didn’t require the more exotic gas mixes. The team kept to oxygen tanks. One of the drawbacks of oxygen was the twenty-minute limit to each dive and the two dive limit per day.

“I am good with cameras,” Nassor said to Charlotte when she turned back to him. “Perhaps, it is best if you take the light instead.”

She planted the light in front of Nassor. “I’m good with them too.” Seniority had to count for something. He could operate the light. Photography wasn’t the most thrilling job, but it was more fun than messing around with the lamp cord and positioning.

They moved to the dive platform and did a final recheck of their equipment.

“
Ground control to Major Tom,”
Charlotte sung softly as she finished the task.

“What is the song you’re singing? I never heard it,” Nassor asked.

“An old David Bowie tune. To me, my vision of what we do underwater is comparable to astronauts in space. The song is about an astronaut who is stranded in space.”

“You like this comparison?”

“Well, not that part,” she conceded. “But it’s the only song I know about astronauts.”

They slid into the water, Charlotte first, then Nassor following on the guideline.

The gentle currents gave them good visibility. As was her habit, Charlotte paused briefly on the seafloor to savor the celestial-like evocative nature around her. At a depth of thirty meters, the water retained its rich blue atmosphere. Sufficient sunlight penetrated to illuminate the flecks of dying organisms, dust, and animal waste floating down from the surface. Marine snow. In the blue world, it looked like a starry night, to her.

Nassor didn’t notice she’d stopped and swam ahead. When he turned, she mimed for him to light the wreck. He did, but she stayed where she was for another moment to appreciate the sight of the ship. Each wreck carried an individual aesthetic, its own soul. She believed by doing this they connected in an intangible but cogent way.

The Bronze Age ship from the season before possessed a forlorn, haunted quality, a skeletal merchantman that waited three millennia to be discovered. The same sentiment did not come from the wreck in front of her. No benign cargo vessel, this Dromon warship brought danger and violence and ultimately met with its own violent end.

She swam past him to the rotted and splintered planks lying scattered on the sand. What little survived had once been the port side of the ship. Exposure to the currents and wood borers destroyed the majority of that portion of the hull. Light dredge work done by Refik and Talat allowed a snapshot view of the construction. Heavier dredging and excavation would uncover greater details. Sections of the prow and stern buried beneath layers of silt were salvageable as was the starboard section of hull.

Charlotte began taking pictures. A bireme, the vessel had two banks of rowers, separated by a deck. She estimated the length at forty-five meters. With their limited time, she’d only be able to photograph a small area of the prow. She concentrated on the bow spur first. A nasty, elongated weapon used to shatter another ship’s oars, immobilizing it. The near defenseless ship made attack and boarding it easier.

She needed Nassor to change angles so she could photograph the spur with a one-hundred-eighty degree view. When she turned to signal him, he was nowhere near the lamp. He’d wandered to the stern end where a pile of gold religious artifacts protruded from the sand.

She swam to him and yanked on his arm, pointing to the lamp and then to the spot she wanted it relocated. He followed and did as she instructed. She continued to check her watch at regular intervals. At eighteen minutes, she mimed for him to shut the lamp off but leave it in the same position. They kicked over to the first decompression stop, rested briefly before continuing on to the next stop and then up to the surface

Charlotte lifted her mask to the top of her head as Nassor scrambled onto the Suraya’s dive platform behind her. “What the hell were you thinking down there? Never separate from your partner unless your partner knows where you’re going.”

On the verge of telling him to pull his head out of his ass, she reined her temper in and cut herself off. Nassor was shy enough already without her jumping on him with both feet. The caustic comment might alienate him completely. If he took it to heart, their partnership would suffer.

“I am sorry. You are right. I promise I’ll be more cognizant of both safety procedures and my surroundings.”

“You’ve been distracted all morning. Get your act together before our afternoon dive.”

She didn’t have time to stay angry. The shuttle for camp idled alongside the Suraya ready to leave. She called out to the boatman to wait and hurried over. She intended on standing next to Atakan when Saska Valko arrived, which would be soon.

Chapter Fourteen

Atakan greeted her at the dock and extended his hand, helping her off the shuttle.

“How was it?”

“Good. I’m anxious to get the mundane stuff over and start excavating the interior.” Charlotte scanned the camp.

“Saska’s not here yet, but she’s en route.”

“She call the camp or you?”

“Me.”

“Hmm, probably kept your cell on speed dial.”

He slid his arm around her waist as they walked toward the entrance to camp. “How was Jafari?”

“Bit of an airhead, but okay.” Charlotte told him about Nassor splitting from their work area and that she chastised him afterward.

They reached the security fence at the same time a taxi from town dropped off a woman. Atakan dropped his arm from her waist while Charlotte did a quick study of Valko, as she walked toward them. She employed a woman-to-woman point system.

Brunette with a fashionable geometric bob, the sun picked up copper highlights in her hair. Her hairdresser did a nice job, Charlotte thought as Valko headed straight for Atakan. The highlights were woven well with her natural color. Charlotte’s hair took a beating with the constant exposure to saltwater and sun. Plus, the nature of her work forced her to keep a simple style, usually a ponytail or braid. Point to Valko.

As she closed the distance, Charlotte fixed on the woman’s big, bright blue eyes. The kind of eyes contact lens companies use in their ads. Charlotte’s were big too and a warm brown. Americans call eyes like hers
bedroom eyes
. Stalemate, no points awarded.

Slim, Valko was medium height, about five-six, shorter than Charlotte with heavy calves and thick ankles. Charlotte’s legs were long, toned, and she had shapely ankles. Point to her.

Valko wore khaki shorts rolled at the hem, and a short-sleeved khaki military style blouse with gold tone buttons on the pockets. The blouse hung loose on Valko’s flat chest. Charlotte was bustier than her but by no means well-endowed. A draw, Charlotte mentally conceded. No points for either of them since Atakan wasn’t a tit man. He shared the same enthusiasm for a pair of perky ones as most men but size didn’t affect his enjoyment. Bummer, she was hoping for a tie-breaker in her favor.

“Hi-hi, how have you been? You look great even with the whole sling thing going on,” Valko said before kissing Atakan on each cheek.

“I’m well, thank you. And you?”

“Never better.” Valko turned and smiled at Charlotte. “Hi, Saska Valko,” she said, putting her hand out.

“Charlotte Dashiell,” she said, shaking hands.

“Charlotte is my lady,” Atakan said.

‘My lady,’ sounded funny to Charlotte, not bad or good, just peculiar, medieval. But she couldn’t think of a better description to offer.

“Shall we have a cool drink in the kitchen?” he asked and gestured toward the building.

Inside, Charlotte grabbed three bottles of water from the fridge and joined Atakan and Valko already seated at the table.

“What happened to your arm?”

“Skiing accident.”

Valko looked skeptical. Her gaze slid from Atakan to Charlotte as though seeking verification and back to him. “What’d you do, try to commit hara-kiri with a ski pole?”

“Freak accident,” Charlotte chimed in.

“I guess.”

They stayed and talked about the project until the cook began lunch preparations.

“Whatever she’s cooking it smells delish.” Valko took a deep breath.

“Halloumi bread,” Atakan told her. “You’ll like it. It has halloumi cheese, onions and mint, very flavorful.” He stood. “Please excuse me, I must arrange for someone to relieve the man at the gate who’s filling in for me. See you shortly.”

“I’d love to wash up before the meal. Can you show me the women’s dorm?” Valko asked Charlotte, who was sucking in a lungful of the baking bread smell too.

“No problem.” Charlotte led the way to their quarters.

“So how long have you and Atakan been together?” Valko set her bag on the bed Charlotte indicated.

“We met on a project a year ago, but only got
together-together
nine months ago.”

“He and I met on an excavation four years ago. I’m sure he told you we dated.”

Charlotte nodded.

“We saw each other off and on afterward. We traveled back and forth several times, but the distance became too much hassle. We hooked up again eighteen months ago.”

Charlotte bristled. ‘
We
t
raveled back and forth several
times
.’ She only knew of one trip.

Valko washed her face and hands. Charlotte handed her a clean towel and she dried off. As Charlotte started to step away, Valko laid a hand on her arm. “Just so we’re square...I’m not here to hit on Atakan. This trip is strictly journalism business, no monkey business,” she threw in with a quick giggle. She leaned in close, like she was sharing info with a girlfriend. “At least none with Atakan.”

“No worries, we’re square,” Charlotte said.
Damned straight
you’re not
. “Are you coming with us on the boat this afternoon?”

“No, not today. I think I’ll hang out here. Atakan can fill me in on the details of this wreck.”

Great.