rising popularity.”
“All of which we can take credit for,” Celik replied smugly.
It had taken Celik several years to find and cultivate the right Islamic leader to front his goals. Mufti Battal had just the right mix of ego and charisma to lead the movement while still being malleable to Celik’s designs. Under Celik’s carefully choreographed campaign of bribes and threats, Battal had consolidated pockets of fundamentalist Islamic support throughout Turkey and gradually built it into a national movement. Working behind the scenes, Celik was about to turn the religious movement into a political one. Smart enough to realize his own aspirations would meet public resistance in some quarters, he hitched his wagon to the populist Mufti.
“It appears from the media reports that public outrage is still high over the Topkapi theft,” Maria said. “It is being viewed as a very visible affront to the Muslim faithful. I would be surprised if it didn’t raise the Mufti’s popularity a percentage point or two.”
“Exactly the intent,” Celik replied. “I must ensure that he releases a public statement strongly condemning the heinous thieves,” he added with a wry smile.
He stepped over to the desk, noting an array of coins in a felt box beside a stack of research journals and a nautical chart. They were the objects stolen from Dr. Ruppe, taken by Maria when she ransacked the archaeologist’s office while visiting the museum dressed as a tourist.
“A bit risky, returning to the scene of the crime?” he asked.
“It wasn’t exactly the Topkapi Privy Chamber,” she replied. “I thought there was an outside chance our second bag of Muhammad relics might have ended up there, until I heard otherwise from the police. It was a quick and easy job to access his office.”
“Anything of interest beyond the coins?” he asked, admiring one of the gold pieces he pulled from the container.
“An Iznik ceramic box. There’s a note by the archaeologist that says it dates to the Age of Suleiman, along with the coins. They apparently all came from the shipwreck discovered by the American.”
Celik’s brow rose in interest. “So it is a Suleiman shipwreck? I wish to know more.”
There was a knock on the office door, which opened a second later to reveal a large man in a dark suit. He had a light complexion and gray, hardened eyes that had clearly witnessed the darker side of life.
“Your visitors have arrived,” he said in a coarse voice.
“Show them in,” Celik ordered, “and return with another Janissary.”
The term
In a similar fashion, Celik’s Janissaries were Christian recruits from Serbia and Croatia, mostly former military commandos. In Celik’s case, however, they were hired strictly as bodyguards and mercenaries.
The Janissary disappeared for a moment, then returned with a companion, who escorted three men into the room. They were the assassins who had chased Pitt and Loren up the Bosphorus. They shuffled in with a noticeable hint of apprehension, all avoiding direct eye contact with Celik.
“Did you eliminate the intruders?” Celik asked without greeting.
The tallest of the three, who had worn the mirrored sunglasses, spoke for the group.
“The man named Pitt and his wife apparently detected our presence and fled on a ferryboat to Sariyer. We established contact with them, but they escaped.”
“So you failed,” Celik said, letting the words hang in the air like an executioner’s sword. “Where are they now, Farzad?”
The man shook his head. “They checked out of their hotel. We don’t know if they are still in the city.”
“The police?” he asked, turning to Maria.
She shook her head. “Nothing has been reported.”
“This man Pitt. He must be lucky, if not resourceful.”
Celik walked over to the desk and picked up the gold coin from Ruppe’s office.
“He will no doubt return to his shipwreck. An
He stepped back and addressed all three men. “You will be paid in full for your work. You can collect your wages on the way out. Each of you is to remain underground until called for the next project. Is that clear?”
All three men nodded quietly. One of the Janissaries opened the door, and the men made a quick retreat for the exit.
“Wait,” Celik’s voice suddenly boomed. “Atwar, another word with you. The others may go.”
The man who had worn the blue shirt stood where he was while Farzad and the Persian left the room. The first Janissary stayed in the room, closing the door then moving behind Atwar. Celik stepped close to the Iraqi.
“Atwar, you let this man Pitt subdue you during the Topkapi theft. As a result, we lost the Holy Mantle of the Prophet that was in our hands. Now yesterday, you let him elude you again?”
“He caught us all by surprise,” Atwar stammered, looking to Maria for support.
She said nothing as Celik pulled open a desk drawer and retrieved a three-foot-long bowstring. As with his Ottoman ancestors, it was his favored tool for execution.
“Unlike Farzad, you have failed me twice,” Celik said, nodding at the Janissary.
The guard stepped up and grabbed Atwar in a bear hug from behind, pinning the man’s arms to his side. The Iraqi tried to struggle, but the Janissary was too powerful to break the grip.
“It was her fault,” he cried, motioning his head toward Maria. “She ordered us to abduct the woman. None of this would have happened if we had let her go.”
Celik ignored the words, slowly stepping closer until he was inches from the struggling man’s face.
“You will not fail me again,” Celik whispered in his ear. Then he flung the cord around Atwar’s neck and tightened it with a lacquered wooden cylinder.
The man screamed, but his voice was quickly snuffed out as the cord tightened around his throat. His face turned blue and his eyes bulged as Celik twisted the block, applying greater pressure to the cord. A perverse look of delight filled Celik’s eyes as he stared into the face of the dying man. He held the twisted cord tight well after his victim’s body fell limp, seeming to savor the moment. He finally unraveled the garrote, taking his time removing it from the dead man’s throat before returning it to the desk drawer.
“Take his body offshore after dark and dump it into the sea,” he said to the Janissary. The guard nodded, then dragged the stiffening body out of the room.
The act of murder seemed to invigorate Celik, and he paced the room with nervous energy. The gold coin was back in his hand, fondled like a child’s toy.
“You should have never brought in these imbeciles to do our work,” he barked at Maria. “My Janissaries would have not failed at the task.”
“They have served us well in the past. Besides, as you have just shown, they are expendable.”
“We can’t have any mistakes going forward,” he lectured. “The stakes are too high.”
“I will personally lead the next operation. Speaking of which, are you certain you wish to proceed in Jerusalem? I’m not sure the benefits are worth the risk.”
“It has the potential to create a massive unifying impact. Beyond that, with a bit of inflated Zionist fright, it will be good for another twenty million euros from our Arab backers.” Celik stopped pacing for a moment then gazed at his sister. “I realize it is not without danger. Are you committed to the task?”
“Of course,” she replied without batting an eye. “My Hezbollah contact has already made arrangements with a top operator who will assist with the mission for the right price. And should there be any difficulties, they will offer the necessary culpability.”
“Hezbollah was not opposed to the nature of the mission?”
“I didn’t provide them all of the details,” Maria replied with a sly smile.
Celik walked over to his sister and gently stroked her cheek. “You have always proven to be the best partner a man could ask for.”
“We have a destiny,” she replied, echoing his earlier words. “When our great-grandfather was exiled by
