The Thieves of Darkness (22 page)

“In my opinion, your point of no return…”

“Yeah?”

“… was six weeks ago when you kissed the girl.”

Iblis watched as the enormous blond driver emerged from the limo. He was all-around large: tall, thick, and muscular. There was no question he functioned as more than a driver as he walked around the car, opening the door for his passengers. Mikla Iki restaurant on Tavasi was one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city, known for its seafood and atmosphere; it was a place that required reservations weeks in advance. But that didn’t seem to be a hurdle for KC. She and her male friend stepped from the limo. The man was already heading for the door when KC stopped. She turned and scanned the area. There was no doubt in Iblis’s mind: She was looking for him. He stared at her from his vantage point in the cab down the road. Her blonde hair and tall stature turned the heads of pedestrians, who wondered if the striking woman was someone they should know.

Iblis had tailed the limo as it left Ataturk Airport and loosely followed them back into the city, which was in full swing for the night. He was in the process of checking out KC’s two companions, but had so far only learned that her dinner partner was the son of the wealthy American attorney whose business card was in her pocket. Iblis hated lawyers, finding them no more than self-important, self-promoting, arrogant interpreters of the language of legalese. On the occasions when
he had killed one, he had taken special pleasure in knowing that he was doing the world a service.

He wasn’t sure about the brown-haired man, but he appeared to be an intimate of KC’s—something that gave him pause, that gave him a feeling he had never known. Iblis felt a sudden tinge of jealousy and it began to grow.

And then the American took KC by the arm, admonishing her for who knows what, and hustled her into Mikla Iki. As they slipped from sight, Iblis felt his jealousy peak. A dark rage began to pour through him, as if KC’s escort had personally attacked him.

Iblis committed the man’s face to memory. He was more than angry at him for touching KC; he was suspicious of him and his intent. He didn’t know who the man was or how close KC and he were, but Iblis would find out. In his field you had to know everyone and everything, with the greatest threat coming from where one least expects it.

A well-dressed attendant approached KC’s large driver. He was no more than twenty-five, filled with piss and vinegar. No one was parking illegally in front of the restaurant on his watch. Iblis watched as the body language of the two stubborn men slowly escalated into a full-on argument. The blond driver towered over the slight Turk. Fingers pointed and their shouting carried over the din of the night. Finally the American stalked back to his car, reluctantly got in, and drove off with his middle finger pointing skyward.

Iblis sat a moment debating whether to follow the man but opted to remain in place for when KC exited. While KC was very good at what she did, she wasn’t foolhardy enough to run off and try to steal either the chart or the rod unprepared, with less than eight hours’ notice. She would plan it well, leaving nothing to chance just as he had taught her.

And her actions would be just as he planned, as if she were but a marionette on his strings. KC had no idea what was coming.

Michael and KC lay prone, head to head atop the ten-foot granite wall surrounding the grounds of Topkapi Palace, both listening, both looking. The wall was like a border between two realities: one alive with people and vendors, diners and nightlife, the other a silent world of the past, tranquil, serene, and abandoned for the evening. They both took a slight roll and silently landed like a pairs team on the grass of the Courtyard of Janissaries. Michael scanned the grounds and noted that most of the guards were milling about the locked Imperial Gate entrance fifty yards away while two guards walked patrol.

The guards were oblivious, lost in conversation, never seeing Michael and KC race along, coming to a stop in the dark shadow of an ancient supply building.

Staying in the shadows, they worked their way past Hagia Eirene and the Imperial Mint, past the collection of old brick buildings and supply houses, constantly on alert, finally coming to a stop within a stand of cypress. They lay down, their dark clothes blending with their surroundings. KC had tucked her hair up into a dark stocking cap to hide her long blonde tresses. Michael carried the two coils of rope across his shoulders with a watertight satchel at his hip.

They had walked straight through Mikla Iki restaurant and out the back door to where Busch was waiting. The thousand-dollar tip to
the maître d’ helped ensure not only their privacy but their alibi. They hadn’t seen Iblis but they were sure he or his men were watching the restaurant. They paid double for the private dining room along with generous tips for the entire staff for their ensured privacy. KC doubted Iblis would come into the restaurant, but if he did he would be none the wiser. Still, they couldn’t “eat” forever without raising suspicion.

They figured they had two hours.

Ahead of them was the Gate of Salutation, large and imposing against the nighttime sky. Two guards stood within the arched entrance in front of the large dark door, talking in hushed tones.

Michael pulled the map from his back pocket and spread it on the grass in front of them. KC passed him a small pin light, its red lens diminishing any glow as he ran it over the map. They both silently scanned it, looking back and forth between the map and the guards. On the leftmost edge, the fortress wall abutted the archeological museum, heavily shadowed by foliage and the surrounding structures.

With two fingers, Michael pointed at KC, then at his eyes, and finally at the guards, indicating where to fix her gaze. Michael continually scoped the grounds for any sign of movement, and without a word they cautiously moved within the trees toward the far corner.

They sprinted along the open ground and slid to a stop at the inner wall that wrapped the palace proper. Made of squared stone and brick with a heavy mortar aggregate, it was a rock climber’s challenge.

“I got this,” KC said as she looked up the twenty-foot barrier.

Michael shook his head, dug his fingers into the mortar seams, and began his climb before KC could react. The wall was ancient, but it had been well maintained through the years. His hands and knuckles burned as he ascended the brick wall, his fingertips finding precarious purchase in the half-inch seams, which grew shallower and shallower as he climbed. The shadows played out along the wall in varying patterns, forcing Michael to change position to remain concealed. He made the top in a minute’s time, removed a coil of rope from his shoulder, quickly affixing it to a scupper, and dropped its length to KC’s outstretched hand. She scurried up hand over hand, and within ten seconds was sitting at his side.

From Simon’s notes and his own earlier reconnaissance tour, Michael knew the high-tech security of Topkapi was reserved for the public locations, where the objects of value were stored, while the route they were taking and their destination held little appeal for anyone.

“Now, will you tell me where we’re going?” KC whispered.

“It’s nice up here,” Michael said as he looked around. The palace grounds spread out before them, the moon casting a pale blue tinge on the Ottoman sanctuary. The palace was vast, a growth of structures of varying size drawing on the architectural heritage of both East and West: Middle Eastern arches, European towers, Asian roofs—a true reflection of Istanbul’s varied cultural past. Michael finally turned back to KC and smiled as he pointed across the second courtyard to the third inner circle.

KC turned and squinted, her eyes finally falling on the host of orange cones that circled a dark hole next to the white marble Library of Ahmet within the third courtyard.

“Earlier today, I saw the construction cones around that hole when we came out of the treasury.” Michael pulled out a modern electrical schematic and spread it on the rooftop. “Simon had this. It shows where they are excavating, where they are going to put in some new conduit. With all of the renovation and digging going on, they pierced some open space, which they need to shore up and cover over.”

“Yeah, and…?”

“And,” Michael pulled out a second map that showed two of the eunuchs’ passages. “Feel like taking a look underground?”

Michael folded up the papers and tucked them in his pocket. “Let’s go for a walk.” He stood, throwing the coil of rope over his shoulder, and headed off without waiting for a reply.

KC sat a moment watching Michael walk among the shadows of the rooftop before getting to her feet and jogging to his side. As they walked, it was like being in an alien world. Rooftops, no matter where they are found, are worlds seen by few, worlds whose views can be unparalleled and awe-inspiring, and Topkapi’s was no exception. It afforded a perspective seen by only a handful of people through the
centuries. The hoi polloi below raced about their day, unaware of the peaceful environment just above their heads.

From this point of view, the palace of Topkapi seemed like an organic growth, without any grand plan or design, or any symmetry to speak of. Sections grew off in all directions: up and out, down, right, left, east and west, all tied together by blue leaded roofs and domes, minaretlike towers and chimneys. Michael felt as if they had been walking for days, making their way across the low-pitched and flat roofs, constantly remaining back from the edges, out of sight of any guard patrolling the grounds. They walked past the Tower of Justice, unamused at the irony, over the harem and around the Circumcision Pavilion, and finally over onto the roof of the exhibition of miniatures and manuscripts. Michael looked out on the open ground: In the middle of the construction site was a small, dark pit; like a black hole it seemed to suck in all the surrounding light.

They scanned the area, confirming that no one was around, and made their way to the edge of their roof, jumping down the ten-foot drop and rolling out into a crouch. They sprinted to the white library building, skidding along the ground till they arrived next to a series of orange cones and a backhoe.

Michael affixed the two ropes to the steel frame of the backhoe and without a thought, grabbed tight and jumped into the pit. He slid twenty feet down into utter darkness, pausing to look up to see a silhouette of KC sliding down the adjacent rope beside him. He hung in nothingness, his breath echoing off the cool walls around him.

Michael pulled a flashlight from his satchel, flipped it on, and the world exploded into view. They were in a shaft of stone, water trickling down its sides. Michael shone the light below and found it reflected back by a watery landing point.

“This is your great idea?” KC whispered, annoyance in her voice as she switched on her flashlight.

Michael didn’t bother looking at her as he slid down and away from her complaints.

It was a twenty-foot drop; the end of his rope was coiled upon the water’s surface like a snake waiting to strike. Michael halted his descent
inches above the water and shone his light about what he now realized was a cavern. The air was cool, and lime leached out of the rounded, domelike ceiling into an organic tapestry of crystalline shafts that painted the roof above. Michael took his time absorbing it all, slowly spinning on his drop line, shining his light to and fro. The open room was oblong, stretching thirty feet wide by ninety feet long; the walls were made of ancient stone and brick that sparkled with moisture and amplified even the most silent of drips as they rained from above.

“It’s a cistern,” KC said.

“Yes and no.” Michael lowered himself slowly into the water, finally hitting bottom at five feet, the surface lapping around his shoulders. The water was as clear as glass; Michael judged it to be a cool sixty-five degrees. “It’s a lot more than a cistern.”

Cisterns, large underground bodies of water, dated back centuries. They were fresh water supplies, man-made reservoirs for royalty and the upper class. There were hundreds hidden under Istanbul, lost to living memory but occasionally finding their way back into the city’s consciousness.

KC lowered herself into the chilly water, gasping as it covered her body.

Michael pulled a compass from his bag, looked at it under the glow of his light, and headed north through the blackened cavern.

“What did you mean, yes and no?” KC threw the beam of her light along the walls, upon the ceiling, into the water, warily looking about as if something might emerge from the darkness.

Michael continued slogging, his flashlight leading the way, until something caught his eye. On the far wall was a remnant from pre-Islamic times. The symbol was carved directly into the stone, and while it had chipped and deteriorated, there was no question as to its Christian meaning. “Before Topkapi, before this cistern, this used to be a monastery. It was in the notes that Simon had. Dating back to the times of Constantine. It was common practice to build atop older buildings and foundations, and even more common practice to use pieces of older structures to help build new ones.”

Michael realized what the room had originally been. He saw crucifix after crucifix carved in the wall; underneath them were large recesses, dug out of the stone and crumpled earth. And within each hollowed-out space was a stone container, a stone coffin.

“It’s a crypt,” he said.

“Great, as if the place wasn’t spooky enough already.”

They looked around. Most of the coffins were intact; the ones that were broken had crumbled to piles in which bone was indistinguishable from marble casket.

“Glad I wasn’t drinking this water,” KC said.

Michael and KC kept moving, the chilled water affecting them both, slowing them down. They finally reached the far wall, an absolute dead end. Michael shone his light about but found no opening. KC peeled off to the left, examining the walls as she went, looking for an opening, a sign of a sealed-up room.

Michael examined the stone and brick wall, walking along its edges, and that’s when he felt it. It was a subtle stirring, a current. Michael shone his light about, and without warning dove under the water and disappeared.