then he was gone, brushing past the fat pink roses, which nodded, and shed a few scarlet petals.
For a minute Rob and Christine sat there. Rob felt the imminence of trouble: he could almost hear warning klaxons going off. What were they getting into? It was a good journalistic story, but was it worth real danger? The train of thought led Rob, reflexively, back to Iraq. Now he was remembering the suicide bomber in Baghdad. He could still see the woman's face. The bomber was a beautiful young woman, with dark long hair; and bright scarlet, lushly lipsticked lips. A suicide bomber in lipstick. And then she'd smiled at him, almost seductively: as she reached for her switch to kill them all.
Rob shuddered at the recollection. Yet this awful memory also gave him a kind of resolve: he'd had enough of being threatened. Of being chased away. Maybe this time he should stay, and get beyond the fears?
Christine was certainly undivided. 'I'm not leaving.'
'He will arrest us.'
'For what? Driving at night?'
'We broke into the dig.'
'He can't sling us in jail for that. It's a total bluff.'
Rob demurred, 'I'm really not so sure. I…dunno…'
'But he's so effete, surely? It's just a game-'
'Effete? Kiribali?' Rob shook his head, firmly. 'No, he's not that. I did a little research on him. Asked around. He's respected, even feared. They say he's an expert shot. He's not a good enemy to have.'
'But we can't go yet. Not until I know more!'
'You mean this vault thing? The museum? What was all that about?'
The waiter was hovering, expecting them to leave. But Christine ordered another two glasses of sweet, ruby-coloured cay. And then she said, 'The last line in the notebook. Cayonu Skulls, cf Orra Keller. You remember the Cayonu skulls?'
'No,' confessed Rob. 'Tell me.'
'Cayonu is another famous archaeological site. Almost as old as Gobekli. It's about a hundred miles north. It's where the pig was first domesticated.'
The waiter set two more glasses on the table and two silver spoons. Rob wondered if you could get tea- poisoning, from too much tea.
Christine continued, 'Cayonu is being dug up by an American team. A few years ago they found a layer of skulls and dismembered skeletons under one of the central rooms of the site.'
'Human skulls?'
Christine nodded. 'And animal bones too. Tests also showed a lot of human blood had been spilt. The site is now called the Skull Chamber. Franz was fascinated by Cayonu.'
'So?'
'The evidence at Cayonu points to some kind of human sacrifice. This is controversial. Kurds do not want to think their ancestors were…blood-thirsty. None of us wants to think that! But most experts now believe the bones in the skull room are the residue of many human sacrifices. The people of Cayonu built their houses on foundations made out of bones, the bones of their own victims.'
'Nice.'
Christine stirred some sugar into her tea. 'Hence the final line in the book. The Edessa Vault.'
'Sorry?'
'That's what the curators of Sanliurfa Museum use as a name for the most obscure archives in the museum, dedicated to pre-Islamic remains. That section is called the Edessa Vault.'
Rob grimaced. 'Sorry Christine, you're losing me.'
Christine elaborated. 'Sanliurfa has had many many names. The Crusaders called it Edessa, like the Greeks. The Kurds call it Riha. The Arabs, al-Ruha. The city of prophets. Orra is another name. It's a transliteration of the Greek name. So Edessa means Orra.'
'And Keller?'
'Is not a name!' Christine smiled, triumphantly. 'It's the German for cellar, basement, vault. Franz capitalized it because that's what Germans do, they capitalize nouns.'
'So…I think I see…'
'When he wrote 'Orra Keller' he basically meant the Edessa Vault. In the basement of the Urfa museum!'
Christine sat back. Rob leaned forward. 'So he's telling us that something is in the Edessa Vault. But didn't we already know that?'
'But why put it in the notebook? Unless he is reminding himself? About something special? And then…what does 'cf' mean?'
'Can find…er…can…'
'It is from the Latin. Confer. Meaning compare or contrast. It's an academic shorthand. Cf. He is saying compare the famous Cayonu Skulls with something in the museum vaults. But there is, or there was, nothing of significance down there. I went through the archives myself when I first came here. But remember,' she wagged a finger, in a teacherly way, 'Franz was digging up things at Gobekli, secretly, at night-just before he was murdered.' Her face was flushed with excitement, and maybe even anger.
'And you think he put his finds in there? In the pre-Islamic vaults?'
'It's an ideal place. The dustiest part of the museum basement, the furthest reach of the cellars. It's secure, concealed and virtually forgotten.'
'OK.' said Rob. 'But it's still a pretty wild theory. Tenuous.'
'Maybe. However…'
It dawned on Rob. 'You were testing Kiribali.'
'And you saw how he reacted! I was right. There's something in those cellars.'
The tea was nearly cold. Rob drained his glass and looked across the table. Christine had hidden depths. Hidden cunning. 'You want to go and look?'
She nodded. 'Yes, but it's locked. And the door is keycoded.'
'Another break-in? Way too dangerous.'
'I know that.'
The wind sussurated in the limes. Over the bridge, a woman in full chador was holding her baby and kissing the baby's fat pink fingers, one by one.
'Why do you want to do all this, Christine? Who go to these lengths? On a hunch?'
'I want to know how and why he died.'
'So do I. But I'm getting paid for it. This is my job. I'm on a story. You are taking big risks.'
'I do it…' She sighed. 'I do it because…he would have done it for me.'
A realization, half-formed, crept over Rob. 'Christine, forgive me. Were you and Franz…ever…?'
'Lovers? Yes.' The Frenchwoman turned away, as if concealing her emotions. 'A few years ago. He gave me my first real chance in archaeology. This amazing site. Gobekli Tepe. There weren't any bones then. He didn't need an osteoarchaeologist. Yet he invited me because he admired my work. And a few months after I came we…fell in love. But then it ended. I felt guilty. The age difference was too much.'
'You ended it?'
'Yes.'
'Did he still love you?'
Christine nodded, and blushed. 'I think he did. He was so gracious and courteous about it. Never let it interfere. Could have asked me to go, but didn't. It must have been very difficult for him, having me there, still with those feelings. He was a fine archaeologist, but he was an ever finer man. One of the nicest men I have ever known. When he met his wife it was easier, thank God.'
'So you think you owe him this?'
'I do.'
They sat in silence for several minutes. The soldiers were feeding the carp in the pond. Rob watched a waterman on his donkey, loping down a path. But then, he had an idea. 'I think I know how you can get the code.'
'How?'
