The Istanbul Puzzle (11 page)

I heard a voice saying my name.

‘Sean.’

I looked around, but couldn’t see anyone who might be calling me. Just streams of people moving this way and that. They were all around me. I headed across the flag-stoned, open area in front of Hagia Sophia, intending to look back as soon as I was away from the crowds to see if I could spot anyone.

Then I felt a hand on my shoulder and I spun around.

‘Mr Sean, wait.’ It was Bulent. He guided me out of the way of some passing tourists.

‘I’m glad I found you,’ he said. He was breathing hard.

‘Abdal sent you?’

‘No, no, not Abdal. He’s an office man. He hates anything that interferes with our schedule.’ He pumped my hand, kissed me on both cheeks again.

‘I am Professor Bulent Athangelos. Abdal didn’t tell you who I am, did he?’

‘No, Professor. He didn’t.’

He nodded, waved a hand dismissively. ‘Abdal wants us all to be anonymous. Now, please, call me Bulent. Will you come for coffee with me?’ He coughed and smiled, showing his yellowing teeth.

‘Sure.’

‘Let’s go then,’ he replied.

We walked at a brisk pace. Bulent was clearly in a hurry. His pants flapped at his ankles.

‘Did Alek tell you he was taking pictures in other places?’ I asked, as we waited at a signal to cross the road and the tram tracks leading up from the Golden Horn.

He shook his head, looked around furtively.

‘Not here.’

We crossed the road. The heat was sapping my energy. We headed down a side street, entered an ancient looking café. The building it was in was leaning a little, as if its shoulders were curving with age. Inside, the place had white tiles on its walls and rows of solid wooden tables. Down one side ran a long deli-style glass case. I felt a delightful blast of cold air from the air-conditioning unit above the door. Apart from these two concessions to modernity, the place looked as if it had been the same for a hundred years or more.

We received only a few curious glances; most of the customers were busy with their companions. The buzz of conversation grew around us as we moved through the room.

We made our way towards a table in the far corner. The cool air, after the heat outside, made the place an oasis. My shirt was damp with perspiration, not only under my arms, but down my back too.

‘Turkish coffee?’ said Bulent.

‘Yes, please.’

‘This place was a favourite of Atatürk’s, you know.’

‘Really?’ I tried to look impressed.

He put his hands face down on the table and leaned forward as if he was about to say something important.

‘I will pray for you,’ he started, shaking his head mournfully.

‘Why will you do that?’

‘You have no security guard.’ His hands were in the air now.

‘I don’t need one.’

He tutted and waved. ‘If they catch the dogs who killed your friend, you know what they will do?’

I shook my head.

‘Send them all to hell.’ He pointed a finger at his forehead and imitated a gun going off. Was this why he’d followed me, to tell me that Alek would be avenged?

A waiter approached. I ordered coffee, and an invitingly thick slice of chocolate cake I’d seen on the way in.

‘You came from London?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’

‘There are problems there, yes?’

‘A few.’

‘Tolerance is dying,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘When Mehmed the Conqueror ruled this city, almost half its population was Christian. We all lived in peace. He said the different peoples in his empire should live as one.’

I’d heard about Mehmed’s tolerance after he’d captured Istanbul.

‘These days, we are going backwards,’ he went on. ‘When Islam first appeared, it reduced taxes, banned usury and slavery too. Did you know that?’

‘No.’

‘Well, it’s true.

I studied him. The skin on his face was deeply grooved. He looked kind, but worried. His red T-shirt was pristine, as if it had come out of its packaging only that morning.

The coffee arrived. My cake tasted even better than it had looked in the glass case. It was silky soft, with a crisp layer of chocolate on top. Irene had always liked chocolate cake. She would have enjoyed this one.

‘Your friend, he met a most terrible death. It is hard even to imagine such a thing,’ said Bulent.

My imagination had had no trouble in serving up bloody images of Alek’s death since I’d seen his body. Those images were ghosts haunting me, becoming clearer if I tried to escape them, as if my mind wasn’t under my control.

I looked at my cake. I’d eaten enough.

‘Did Alek say anything to you about his interest in other places, like the Blue Mosque or Hagia Eirene or anywhere else?’ I asked.

‘He said nothing about the Blue Mosque. I told him Hagia Eirene is closed. It opens only for concerts, recitals, things like that. There are pictures of the interior in our Archaeological Museum. I told him all this. He did ask about Hagia Eirene.’

At last, we were getting somewhere. ‘Did he ask about any other place?’ I picked up my coffee, pushed the remains of the cake away.

‘He wanted to know about the old Imperial Palace, Con-stantine’s Palace – everyone does these days – and how the Senate project is progressing. He had lots of questions.’

‘He had an idea that there was a temple to Aphrodite on the site of Hagia Eirene, before Constantine turned it into a Christian Church,’ I said. ‘Did he ask you if you’d found any proof that it existed?’ It was a theory Alek had spoken about only once, and it was hard to see how it could have led to his death, but I had to ask about it.

‘We have been studying everything,’ said Bulent. He looked around the room, as if he was looking for someone.

‘Might there be crypts under Hagia Eirene?’

He put his coffee down and waited. The buzz of conversation in the room got louder.

‘There are underground areas on most sites near here, the old Palace, the Senate building, the Hippodrome, everywhere.’

Which one Alek had decided to investigate was the question.

‘It was not unusual for early Christians to take over temple sites. St Paul’s in London was a temple to Diana, was it not?’ he said.

‘I don’t know.’

He smiled briefly, then looked pensive again. His bushy black eyebrows hooded his eyes.

‘Some of the Greek temples were centres of prostitution.’

‘Really?’ I replied. ‘That must have been a sight.’

‘It was a disaster, Mr Ryan. I wrote a paper on the subject.’ He paused. His expression darkened. ‘It hasn’t been published, yet.’

‘I’m sure it will be,’ I said.

‘Hagia Eirene was my project. Mine. The wrong people are working there these days.’ He looked around. He seemed afraid.

‘They are better connected than me,
effendi
.’ He examined the dregs of his coffee. ‘Us researchers on the Hagia Sophia project, we know nothing about their excavation plans, nothing. Can you believe that? It’s crazy! We don’t even talk to each other!’ He stopped, pressed his lips together, as if he’d said too much already.

‘When did that project start?’

‘I’m sorry, Sean.’ He shook his head.

‘What’s wrong?’

He bit his lip. His eyelids drooped further. ‘I cannot say any more.’ He was closing down on me.

‘My Institute could support your work, Professor.’ It was true. I could get good projects onto the Institute’s agenda. Our grants weren’t that big, but often a little went a long way. ‘Perhaps we can help each other.’

He eyed me suspiciously.

‘Why don’t you tell me what’s going on in Hagia Eirene? I’ll owe you.’

He looked at me for a minute before he responded. I could see him thinking, going through the benefits of having a director of an Oxford Institute in his debt, wondering what I really wanted.

‘Alek didn’t tell you anything?’ he said.

I shrugged. ‘Nothing would surprise me about Alek.’

‘I am sorry,’ he said. ‘I cannot talk any more about this.’

I sat forward. I was close to finding out something important. I could feel it. But my chance was slipping away.

‘Alek was up to something and he told you all about it. You’ve just confirmed it.’ I looked around. ‘Maybe I should tell Abdal Gokan about this. He might be able to help me.’

I stood. He looked shocked. Then he glanced around.

‘No,’ he said.

‘Tell me more then.’

He looked up at me.

‘You must not tell people you got anything from me,’ he said quickly.

‘I don’t want to get you into trouble, but I have to find out what happened to Alek. I need to know what he was up to.’ I sat back down. ‘Tell me what’s going on in Hagia Eirene.’

He sighed, like a ball deflating. ‘Not in Hagia Eirene. Under it. Since Alek’s death they’ve been working there every day, every night for all I know.’ He was speaking in a whisper. ‘You know what I think, Sean?’

I shook my head.

‘They want to steal my idea.’ His voice rose an octave. ‘I was the one who found the doorway. But they got the permission to open it.’ His hands held the air, as if he was holding a weight up. His fingers were spread wide, his frustration clear. ‘My life’s work is being stolen.’

He shook his fist in front of him. ‘It is wrong. Whoever publishes this find will have a triumph, medals, awards, everything. They are thieves.’ He spat the word out.

‘Did you take Alek to Hagia Eirene?’

His head moved up and down, a nodding dog in the back window of a car. ‘Can you show me where you took him?’ This could explain everything. Alek had interrupted someone on a secret dig.

Bulent looked away. He rubbed his forehead unhappily.

‘No, no. I can’t get involved.’

‘How did this group get permission to work there?’

‘They have people with the best credentials.’ He waved his hands. ‘That is what I was told.’ He leaned forward. ‘I asked them not to let a private dig take place in Hagia Eirene. But they say the people have all the proper letters, permissions, that they were doing a simple site survey for a larger project. I don’t know, maybe it’s true.’

‘You can take me there?’

He shook his head fast. ‘No. No. I have a wife, two children.’ He pulled out his wallet, showed me a photo of a plump woman with black hair pulled back, her arms tight around two smiling children, a black-haired boy and girl.

‘They are beautiful,’ I said.

We looked at the picture. Bulent was nodding sadly. I knew what he was trying to tell me.

‘I go now,’ he said softly.

‘Why can’t you at least tell me where you took Alek?’

His expression hardened. ‘I can’t help you any more. I answered your questions. You must leave me alone.’

‘You can explain where you took him.’ My voice rose. I wasn’t going to give up.

He patted the air between us, trying to get me to quieten down. ‘You have to forget all this. Where I took him is guarded,
effendi
. They’ve put a security camera on the door. I will not take you there.’ He clamped his mouth shut.

‘Give me something more.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘
Effendi
, I will tell you one more thing. Then you will stop all this.’ He leaned close to me. ‘The people who are working there, they come and go through a side door in the courtyard in front of our office. That’s all I can tell you.’

He stood. I got the impression he wanted to get away quickly. That he’d decided meeting me hadn’t been a good idea. I stood as well.

He held out his hand. ‘I’m sorry, I cannot help any more.’

We shook hands. He headed for the door. I sat back down for a split second, then raced after him. He turned as he reached the doorway and looked at me enquiringly as I came up to him.

‘One last question.’

His eyebrows shot up. ‘No, no more, please.’

I took my chance. ‘What hours do these people work under Hagia Eirene?’

He shook his head. I stood my ground. His eyes darted towards the street. His attitude had changed. He looked really scared.

‘It’s a small request. Tell me for Alek’s sake, if nothing else.’

He closed his eyes for a few seconds, opened them, then pushed his face towards mine.

‘OK,
effendi
, friend of Alek who won’t give up, if you want to see them, to see what I say is true, I will tell you this.’

He gripped my arm. ‘At four every afternoon two men exit into the courtyard. That’s when they finish their shift under Hagia Eirene.’

‘How will I recognise them?’

He snorted dismissively. ‘Their overalls are covered in dust. You will know them. They are the only ones who use that exit. So now you know this and you can see with your own eyes that what I say is the truth. And you know what I think?’ His hand gripped my shoulder. ‘Why Alek died?’

‘Why?’

‘He was mixed up in something before he even came here. I don’t think it had anything to do with all this.’

And then he was gone.

I went back into the café. Two waiters, young men with slicked-back hair, and an old, grey-haired man behind the counter, were staring at me. I took my seat. A party of tourists at one of the other tables was looking at me too. I’d attracted a lot of attention. It was time to go.

Within minutes I was in a taxi, heading for Peter’s house.

I wanted to find out what had happened to Isabel. Why hadn’t she turned up? The lack of anyone following me had made me think again about what her and Peter were up to. Was I supposed to let them know what I’d found out?

The taxi driver looked at me in his mirror, as we shunted through the late morning traffic.

If Isabel was at Peter’s villa, I might tell her I was going to Hagia Eirene at four. And if she insisted, she could come along too. It would probably be a good idea to have her with me. At the very least I’d be sticking to the deal I’d done with her and Peter.

As I waited for someone to open the gate at Peter’s villa I walked up and down. When at last it opened, the first thing I did was ask Peter’s man if Isabel had come round. I surprised myself at how quickly that question came out.

‘No, sir, but Mr Fitzgerald is back,’ was his reply.

He led me through the house to a small courtyard. It had a froth of pink rose bushes climbing up three of its whitewashed walls. Peter was sitting at a coffee table, talking on a phone. He waved at me to sit down on a thickly-cushioned high-backed chair near him. It took him a couple of minutes to finish his call. Arrogance came off him like heat from a fire. It wasn’t just the way he sat, or the expression on his face, it was everything put together. I stood up and started pacing.