Flipping its pages, he stopped at a photograph of several antique coins. Comparing the image with one of the coins, he nodded in satisfaction.
“A match?” Pitt asked.
“Spot-on. Identical to coins known to be minted in Syria, during the sixteenth century. Congratulations, Dirk, you’ve likely discovered an Ottoman wreck from the Age of Suleiman the Magnificent.”
“Who’s Suleiman?” Loren asked.
“One of the most successful and admired of the Ottoman sultans, perhaps only behind the reigning founder of the empire, Osman I. He expanded the Ottoman Empire across southeastern Europe, the Middle East, and North Africa during his reign in the mid fifteen hundreds.”
“Perhaps this was a gift or offering to the Sultan,” Pitt said, removing the ceramic box from his bag and slowly unwrapping it. Loren’s eyes brightened at the intricate design in blue, purple, and white that adorned the lid.
“What beautiful artistry,” she remarked.
“The old Muslim craftsmen did wonders with tile and ceramic,” Ruppe said. “I haven’t seen anything quite like this, however.”
He held the box up to the light and studied it carefully. There was a small uneven crack on one side, which he rubbed a finger over.
“The design is similar to items I’ve seen known as Damascus ware,” he said. “It’s a pattern from the well- known ancient kilns of Iznik, Turkey.”
He carefully pried the lid off, then removed the encrusted crown from inside.
“Oh my,” Loren said, inching closer.
Ruppe was equally impressed. “That’s something you don’t see every day,” he said, holding it for study under a portable lamp. He picked up a small dental pick and lightly scraped off a particle of sediment.
“This should clean up quite nicely, given a careful scrubbing,” he said. Examining it a bit closer, he squinted with a furrowed brow. “That’s odd,” he said.
“What is it?” Loren asked.
“There appears to be an inscription on the inside rim. I can just make out a few letters, but it appears to be Latin.”
“That doesn’t make much sense,” Loren said.
“No,” Ruppe agreed. “But I think after a bit of conservation, we’ll be able to figure it out. Should allow us a good chance at identifying its origin.”
“I knew we came to the right place,” Pitt said.
“It would seem that your shipwreck may contain more than one mystery,” Ruppe said.
Loren looked at the crown through tired eyes, then suppressed a yawn.
“I’m afraid I’ve kept you up far too late,” Ruppe remarked, placing the crown in a wall safe, then putting the lockbox, coins, and ceramic box into a plastic bin filled with fresh water. “I’ll be anxious to examine the items in more detail with the help of my associates as soon as I return from Rome.”
“I’d like to know what a gold crown inscribed in Latin is doing on an Ottoman shipwreck,” Pitt said.
“We may never know, but I’m curious to see what else is on that wreck,” Ruppe replied. “Strange as it seems, there’s actually been only a small number of Ottoman wrecks discovered in the Med.”
“If you can notify the Turkish authorities of our find, we’ll do what we can to help,” Pitt said. He handed Ruppe a nautical chart with the wreck’s location marked in red. “It’s pretty close to Chios, so the Greeks might have something to say about it.”
“I’ll make a call first thing in the morning,” Ruppe said. “Is there any chance you and your vessel could help initiate a full survey of the site?”
Pitt smiled. “I’d like nothing more than to figure out exactly what we found. I’ll manage to divert our vessel for a day or two. We have an archaeologist already aboard who can help direct the work.”
“Fine, fine. I’m on good terms with the Turkish Ministry of Culture. They’ll be pleased to know that the wreck is in good hands.”
He looked at Loren, who was fighting to keep her eyes open.
“My dear, forgive my historic ramblings. It’s very late, and I need to get you back to your hotel.”
“You better, before I lie down to sleep on one of the sarcophagi outside.”
Ruppe locked up his office, then escorted them past the guard and out of the building. As they were descending the museum’s steps, a pair of muted explosions erupted in the distance, and a series of nearby alarms sounded suddenly, echoing over the high walls of Topkapi. The trio stopped, astonished, and listened to the faint voices of men shouting and then the pop of gunfire rattling through the night sky. More shots were fired, the sounds drawing closer to them. Seconds later, the door to the museum opened behind them, and the security guard came running toward them with a horrified look on his face.
“The palace is under attack!” he yelled. “The Chamber of the Sacred Relics in Topkapi has been raided, and the guards at Bab-us Selam are not responding. I must make sure the gate is barricaded.”
Bab-us Selam, or the Gate of Salutations, was the main entry point into the enclosed sanctuary of Topkapi Palace. It was a high-towered palisade resembling a Disneyland castle, where tourists lined up in the morning to explore the palace and grounds of the grand Ottoman sultans. A security station was located just inside the gate, which housed several Turkish Army guards assigned to night duty. Situated just up the road, the gate was clearly wide open, and no guards were visible.
The museum guard, Avni, sprinted past Ruppe and across the parking lot. About a hundred yards from the gate, he ran past a white utility van parked just off the road. The van’s motor immediately turned over and coughed to life.
Its headlights were turned off, immediately triggering an uneasy feeling in Pitt. Sensing something amiss, he instinctively followed after Avni.
“Be right back,” he grunted, then took off at a sprint.
“Dirk!” Loren shouted, confused at her husband’s sudden reaction. But he didn’t bother to answer when he noticed the white van begin to pull forward.
Pitt knew what was about to happen but was powerless to prevent it. When the van lurched forward with a whining squeal from its motor, he could only watch as if it were a movie scene in slow motion. The van aimed for the museum guard and quickly picked up speed. Running at full tilt, Pitt shouted a warning.
“Avni! Behind you!” he yelled.
But it was a futile gesture. With its headlights still turned off, the van lurched forward and struck the museum guard from behind. His body flew high off the vehicle’s hood, then cartwheeled to the pavement with a thud. The van continued accelerating, then screeched to a stop in front of the open gate.
Pitt kept running, quickly approaching the prone guard. From the grotesque shape of the man’s head, Pitt could tell that the guard’s skull had been shattered, killing him instantly. Unable to do anything for him now, Pitt proceeded toward the van.
The van driver sat behind the wheel, anxiously staring through the open Bab-us Selam portal. With the engine running, he failed to detect Pitt’s footsteps until he was alongside the van. He turned to look out the open side window and was met by a pair of hands that reached in and grabbed him by the collar. Before he could even resist, his head and torso were yanked halfway through the window.
Pitt heard additional footfalls approach, but only caught a shadow out of the corner of his eye as he wrestled with the driver. He had looped an elbow beneath the man’s chin and was nearly ripping his head off. The driver regained his wits and struggled to release Pitt’s grip, jamming his knees under the steering wheel and flailing with his arms. But Pitt was able to exert pressure on the driver’s throat until he gasped for air, then started to fall limp in his arms.
“Let him go,” a female voice suddenly barked.
Pitt turned toward the prone body of the dead museum guard while maintaining his grip on the choking van driver. Loren and Ruppe had followed him up the road to assist Avni and were now positioned alongside the dead man. Ruppe was leaning down on one knee, holding his hand to a bloody gash inflicted across his forehead, while Loren stood alongside looking at Pitt with fear in her eyes.
Standing beside them was a short woman wearing a black ski mask, sweater, and pants. She stood with her arm extended, pointing a pistol at Loren’s head.
