Turkey is suffering economic distress like other places, which breeds unhappiness and discontent with the status quo. The hard times seem to be playing right into his hands. He’s visible everywhere these days, really attacking the sitting President.”
“Aside from upsetting the Western alliances, I can’t help but think that a Turkish shift toward fundamentalism would make the entire Middle East an even more dangerous place,” Loren replied.
“With a Shia-controlled Iran flexing her military muscle, I fear your concerns are quite valid.”
Their dinners were brought to the table, Loren receiving a baked sea bass dish and Pitt a grilled grouper plate, while Ruppe dined on Black Sea turbot.
“Sorry to ruin the meal with politics, it’s a bit of an occupational hazard,” Loren apologized. “The sea bass is outstanding, I’m happy to report.”
“I don’t mind, and I’m sure Dirk is used to it,” Ruppe said with a wink. He turned to his old friend. “So, Dirk, tell me about your project in the Aegean.”
“We’re investigating a number of low-oxygen dead zones in the eastern Mediterranean,” Pitt replied between bites. “The Turkish Environment Ministry has steered us to a number of regional spots in the Aegean where recurring algae blooms have snuffed out all marine life. It’s a growing problem we’ve been seeing in many places around the globe.”
“I know that it’s been a major concern in the Chesapeake Bay, right in our own backyard,” Loren remarked.
“Dead zones in the Chesapeake have become quite large in recent summer months,” Pitt acknowledged.
“All due to pollutants?” Ruppe asked.
Pitt nodded. “In most instances, the dead zones are located near the delta areas of large rivers. Low oxygen levels are usually a direct result of nutrient pollution, primarily in the form of nitrogen from agricultural or industrial runoff. The nutrients in the water initially create a mass growth of phytoplankton, or algae blooms. When the algae ultimately die and sink to the bottom, the decomposition process removes oxygen from the water. If the process reaches critical mass, the water becomes anoxic, killing all marine life and creating a dead zone.”
“What have you found so far in Turkish waters?”
“We’ve confirmed the presence of a moderately sized dead zone between the Greek island of Chios and the Turkish mainland. We are continuing to conduct survey work in the region and will ultimately map the perimeter and intensity of the zone.”
“Have you traced its source?” Loren asked.
Pitt shook his head. “The Turkish Environment Ministry is helping identify potential industrial or agricultural polluters in the area, but we’re not close to identifying the source, or sources, just yet.”
The waiter appeared and cleared their dinner dishes, then brought a tray of fresh apricots and three coffees to the table. Loren was surprised to find that her coffee was already sweetened.
“Dirk, is your shipwreck located in the dead zone?” Ruppe asked.
“No, but not far off. We were actually laid up repairing our sensing equipment when we discovered the site. A fishing boat that is now short a few feet of net gave us some help.”
“In your call, you mentioned retrieving some artifacts?”
“Yes, I actually brought them with me,” Pitt replied, nodding toward a black bag that sat near his feet.
Ruppe’s eyes lit up, then he looked at his watch. “It’s after eleven, and I’ve probably kept you up too late as it is. But the museum is just a few minutes down the road. I’d love to take a look at the items, and then you can leave them in the safety of my lab, if you like.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Loren piped up, averting potential disappointment for her husband. “We’re both dying to have your assessment.”
“Great,” Ruppe smiled. “Let’s enjoy our coffee, and then we can go to my office to take a proper look at what you found.”
The coffee cups drained and the check paid, the trio wandered out of the restaurant and up the street. Ruppe stopped in front of a green Volkswagen Karmann Ghia convertible parked at the curb.
“My apologies for the lack of legroom, I know the backseat is pretty cramped,” he said.
“I love these old VWs,” Loren said. “I haven’t seen one this nice in ages.”
“She’s getting on in years but still runs like a top,” Ruppe said. “I’ve found it to be a great car for zipping around the cramped streets of Istanbul, though I miss having air-conditioning.”
“Who needs that when the top goes down?” Pitt mused, taking the passenger seat after Loren had wedged herself into the backseat.
Ruppe drove back into the heart of the city, then turned through a large arched gate.
“We’re entering the grounds of Topkapi, the old Ottoman palace,” he explained. “Our museum is located near the entrance to the inner courtyard. You should take a tour of the palace, if you have the chance. But go early, it’s a tourist favorite.”
Ruppe motored through a parklike setting studded with historic buildings. Driving up a slight rise, he pulled into an employee parking lot at the rear of the Istanbul Archaeology Museum. A half block away rose the high wall that surrounded the inner palace of Topkapi.
After uncoiling themselves from the cramped car, Loren and Pitt followed Ruppe toward a large neoclassical building.
“The museum actually encompasses three buildings,” Ruppe explained. “There’s the Museum of the Ancient Orient around the front, next to the Tiled Kiosk, which houses the Museum of Islamic Art. I kick around here in the main building, which houses the Archaeology Museum.”
Ruppe led them up the back steps of the columned building, constructed in the nineteenth century. After he unlocked the back door, they were greeted by a night watchman stationed just inside.
“Good evening, Dr. Ruppe,” the guard said. “Working late again?”
“Hi, Avni. Just a quick visit with some friends, and then we’ll be gone.”
“Take your time. It’s just me and the crickets.”
Ruppe led his guests through the main hallway, which was filled with ancient statues and carvings. Exhibit halls on either side show-cased elaborate tombs from across the Middle East. The archaeologist stopped and pointed out a massive stone sarcophagus covered with bas-relief carvings.
“The Alexander Sarcophagus, our most famous artifact. The scenes along the sides depict Alexander the Great in battle. Nobody knows who’s actually inside, though many believe it’s a Persian Governor named Mazaeus.”
“Beautiful artwork,” Loren murmured. “How old is it?”
“Fourth century B.C.”
Ruppe guided them down a side corridor and into a spacious office overflowing with books. A large lab table occupied one wall, its stainless steel surface covered with artifacts in varying stages of conservation. Ruppe flicked on a bank of overhead lights, which brightly illuminated the room.
“Let’s take a look at your soggy goods,” he said, pulling a couple of stools up to the table.
Pitt unzipped the bag and pulled out Giordino’s iron box, unwrapping it carefully from the towel.
“Somebody’s piggy bank, I believe,” he said. “The lock came off by itself,” he explained with a guilty grin.
Ruppe slipped on a pair of reading glasses and studied the box.
“Yes, it looks like the equivalent of a strongbox, quite old from the appearance.”
“The contents might make dating it a little easier,” Pitt remarked.
Ruppe’s eyes widened as he opened the lid. Spreading a cloth on the table, he carefully laid out the silver and gold coins, seven in all.
“I should have let you pay for dinner,” he said.
“My word, is that real gold?” Loren asked, picking up the gold coin and noting its heavy weight.
“Yes, looks to be from an Ottoman mint,” Ruppe replied, studying the stamped inscription. “They operated several around the empire.”
“Can you read any of the writing?” she asked, admiring the swirling Arabic script.
“It appears to be a rendition of
Ruppe crossed the room and scanned his bookshelf, finally retrieving a thick-bound volume from the shelves.
