The Thieves of Darkness (12 page)

They walked past cases with emerald prayer beads and arrow quivers covered in gold, past an emerald pendant belonging to Sultan Abdul-Hamid I, framed in gold and containing three large emeralds arranged in a triangle, with forty-eight strings of pearls forming a tassel.

KC briefly paused before an elaborate display containing the famous Topkapi Dagger, created in 1747 as a gift to the Persian king Nadir Shah, who was assassinated before the Ottoman emissary crossed the border into Iran. As a result, the sultan retained it and kept it in his collection. The dagger contained three large emeralds in its handle, with an eight-sided emerald at its top that concealed a small watch. Along the hilt were rows of diamonds, while the back of the handle was covered in mother-of-pearl and enamel.

KC checked her watch and continued. Michael was two steps behind as they wended their way through the crowds into the third salon. A room filled with enameled objects, medals, and decorations of state
presented to the sultans by foreign monarchs, it contained the golden throne used by the sultans during coronations and religious holidays. A large crowd was gathered around one of the world’s most famous jewels, the Spoonmaker’s Diamond, an eighty-six-carat, teardrop-shaped gem discovered by a poor fisherman in a rubbish heap and sold to a merchant for three spoons.

As a result of construction and the renovation of the Topkapi library, several of its more important artifacts were on display in the treasury’s third salon, including books on Islamic law, theology, and world affairs, Korans of historical significance, and books and charts chronicling the rise and fall of the Ottoman Empire. Written in Turkish, Arabic, and Persian, the works in the Topkapi library were considered an important collection not only by the Muslim world but by the world as a whole.

KC came to an abrupt halt, Michael right on her heels, and slowly turned her eyes to the goal of their brisk, short journey. They had stopped before a large glass case, its contents displayed below a soft yellow light. The object was made of tanned gazelle skin, the markings exquisitely rendered in rich brown, deep red, and black ink. The thirty-six-by-twenty-four-inch, highly detailed chart displayed the west coast of Africa, up to and across the Mediterranean to the Iberian Peninsula, across to the Caribbean and South America, and down to the northern coast of Antarctica. Numerous islands from the Azores to the Canaries to the mythical Antillia filled the sea. The Andes Mountains of Peru were depicted, with the various great rivers of the continent, including the Amazon, the Orinoco, the Magdalena, and the São Francisco, all flowing into the Atlantic.

The chart was in the Portolano style, with lines radiating from center points, a style that guided ships from port to port. Instead of latitude and longitude grids, compass roses were placed at key points with azimuths radiating from them to far-off lands.

Elephants and ostriches, kings and sultans were rendered in detail upon the African continent, while monkeys, cougars, cattle, and wild men danced across South America.

Copious notes scattered the chart, speaking of everything from
Christopher Columbus and his discovery of the New World to naked South American natives to sea monsters and land beasts.

The chart was jagged on its rightmost edge, torn down the center of Africa. Aside from this damage, it was well preserved. The case seemed to hold no interest to the tourists who were entranced by the neighboring collections of jewels and daggers.

“Do you know this was drawn by a Turk, Piri Reis, in 1513?”

“And…?” Michael said, knowing she was trying to make a point.

“They had the circumference of the world accurate to within fifty miles.” There was an underlying excitement in KC’s voice.

“So did Eratosthenes in 230
B.C
.,” Michael cracked.

“Look at the bottom,” KC said, pointing at the lowermost portion. “See Antarctica?”

“Yeah.”

“That is the land mass of Antarctica.”

“Yeah … I see.”

“Antarctica has been covered in ice for almost six thousand years.”

“They say it’s real cold in the winter down there,” Michael joked.

“Modern man had no idea what the land mass looked like until the U.S. Navy ran some satellite imagery in 1960, and you know what they found?” KC was bubbling, all the while ignoring Michael’s quips.

“You’re going to tell me.” Michael enjoyed playing off her.

“That what you see right there,” KC pointed at the depiction, “is accurate, real accurate … scary accurate.”

“So this guy, Piri, dreamed it or what?”

“He said he based his chart on over twenty different sea charts. One came from Christopher Columbus, which is how Piri was able to depict the Caribbean, some from the Portuguese, the Italians, the Chinese, many acquired from his and his uncle’s travels, even some said to be from the library of Alexandria.”

“So, who gave him the Antarctic one, the Atlanteans?”

KC raised her eyebrows as if to say
who knows?

“You’re kidding, right?”

“I have no idea, haven’t really thought much on it.” KC laughed.
“But it raises the possibility that people have been sailing the seas for a lot longer than the experts have surmised.”

“
Expert
is a relative term, a term used way too loosely these days.”

“I agree.” KC looked back at the chart as if it called to her. “Would you believe this chart was found in a pile of rubble back in ’29? It didn’t hold much interest to the world until the whole Antarctica thing came up.”

Michael studied the chart, impressed with its detail and KC’s mythic stories.

“So, what do you think?”

“I think this is bad idea.” Michael laughed.

“Tempted?” KC smiled.

Michael tore his eyes away from the chart and slowly shook his head. “Not in the least.”

“But if you were … how would you steal the chart?”

Michael loved the planning; it was like cracking a puzzle, deciphering the weaknesses in the building and the security’s design. Michael looked around at the tourists who scattered the room, at the guards who stood ramrod-straight at the door.

He finally smiled. “Well, assuming I had the building plans—”

“Which we do.”

Michael turned back to the chart, thinking, suddenly realizing. He spoke as if he was in on the joke. “KC, why steal the map when you can just buy a perfect replica in the gift shop or photograph this one?”

KC smiled and nodded. “Because”—she glanced at her watch and turned to leave—“this isn’t the half of the map I’m looking for.”

T
HE LIMO PULLED
away from the Vatican Consulate and worked its way back into the Istanbul morning traffic. Cindy and Busch were lost in conversation as Simon unwrapped the large box he’d picked up and pulled out a large leather briefcase that bulged with maps and research. For years he had investigated the Piri Reis chart, researching all of its historical detail. He knew the location of the westerly section, but the easterly section had been lost to myth and conjecture. Through his research he had been able to ascertain its general location within Topkapi
Palace, but to find the specific place where it had been concealed, its specific position, he had sought a letter from the grand vizier, a letter that was said to be very specific about where the vizier had secreted the missing chart.

Simon opened the first envelope to find the plastic-encased ancient letter, thankful that it had found its way through the postal service to the Vatican. Attached to it were three two-sided copies, the front of which were Xeroxes, while the rear was an English translation.

“What is that?” Cindy asked, seeing the yellowed, antique letter.

Simon smiled. “Just a bit of research I am doing.”

“So, let me ask you…” Cindy said.

Simon looked at Busch, hoping he would handle her.

“Are KC and Michael seriously dating or is it just a fling?”

“Well,” Busch was momentarily speechless, as not even Michael and KC knew where their relationship stood at this point. “I guess you could say they’ve been seeing each other for around a month.”

“Thank God.” Cindy shook her head. “She needs to find someone.”

“I don’t know about you two,” Busch interrupted, “but I’m starving.”

“You’re always starving,” Simon said.

The limo fell silent as Simon examined the translated letter while Busch and Cindy looked out at the city of Istanbul zooming by.

“Can I ask why you and my sister were in jail?” Cindy abruptly asked of Simon.

Simon looked up from his reading. “I think it’s best you ask your sister.”

“Does it have to do with that?” Cindy asked, pointing at the letter.

“No, it was all a misunderstanding,” Simon said, already asking forgiveness for his lie. “I’m sure KC will tell you about it when she gets back.”

Cindy’s eyes darted between Busch and Simon. Simon could see she was not buying a word of his explanation.

“KC didn’t want me to come here,” Cindy said in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Then why did you?” Busch asked innocently.

“She just escaped from prison.” Cindy stared at Busch. “What would you do?”

Busch nodded in understanding.

“When my perfect sister ends up in jail, besides scaring me, it raises more than a few questions.”

Busch grew suddenly uncomfortable as he realized Cindy didn’t know her sister very well.

“You aren’t going to tell me anything either, are you?”

“I don’t think it’s my place. It’s really between you and KC. I’m sure she’ll explain it when she gets back.”

Cindy nodded, her charm evaporating as she pulled out and dialed her cell phone.

“Hey, Lara, it’s Cindy, I need you to pack up my office and be sure to have the numbers on the Pliant deal before we start at SQS on Monday … and I need you to find me a nice hotel in Istanbul. And while you’re at it…” Cindy became lost in her call.

Relieved by her distraction, Simon took the moment and read the translated letter, taking his time, absorbing every word, but at its conclusion he became confused. He reread it, more slowly this time.

Patriarch Makarije I

Archbishop Makarije Sokolović

Maka

I write this letter, as I fear I will not see the winter. Much has changed since Sultan Murad III has taken power; he is easily influenced by his mother, the Valide Sultan, who has grown powerful and jealous of my dealings. My closest friends, confidants, and allies have perished under mysterious circumstances and if it is Allah’s wish to take this old man, then I will embrace death with the promise of paradise awaiting me on the other side
.

I grow reflective in my seventies. I miss our home, our childhood where our cares were simple and our troubles few. I find myself dreaming more
and more of the thick verdant forests and rolling hills and mountains where we would play unaware of the foulness of man, of the greed, evil, and fear that lurks in so many hearts
.

Who could have known the destiny we would follow and the impact we would have upon this troubled world? Our parents instilled in us values and teachings that we have both applied throughout our lives. As the sons of Abraham, we carry much responsibility to our faiths and the faiths of the world. And for men like us, our responsibilities will continue even after we have shed our corporeal beings
.

I fear the chart that I showed you on your previous visit, the chart of my deceased friend, Piri Reis, and where it leads. I endeavored to pass it to you last month in hope that you would keep it safe as I had done for over twenty years, but I no longer have a staff I can trust. And while I could not bear to destroy it as its purpose may one day be revealed to wiser men than us, I have hidden it away behind our common father. He was a wise man, a prophet who foresaw the future, whose sons have achieved greatness in the eyes of our common God
.

Though our faiths have ridden different roads we are still bound together as the sons of Abraham
.

I bid you farewell, my brother, and look forward to our conversations in eternity. I just ask that you delay your journey
.

Salaam to you, my brother,
Bajica

Simon had thought the letter would be more exact about the chart’s repository, not a puzzle, but as he reread the letter through three times he knew that was what he faced.

And while it frustrated him, he imagined it frustrated Venue and his people even more. Simon had heard through an anonymous tip to his offices that Venue had acquired the letter two weeks earlier from a black market dealer, and though Simon could never confirm the source of the information, it bore out as true, confirmed by the fact that he held the letter in his hand, which he and KC had stolen out from under Venue.

Simon was confident that Venue had not figured out the letter’s
meaning or the exact location where the chart was held, for if he had he would already be en route east, not sitting in his office in Amsterdam.

For Simon knew that knowing where the chart would lead was Venue’s last, most desperate hope and, as far as the world was concerned, the last place on earth someone like Venue should ever be allowed to enter.

M
ICHAEL AND
KC walked out of the Treasury, past the library, past some construction cones and equipment, and back through the Gate of Felicity toward a group that stood under the grand tiled awning of the Divan. KC suddenly took Michael’s hand and walked up to a man in a blue hat.

“Hi,” KC said with a smile. “Charlie and Elaine Sullivan. Sorry we’re late.”

Michael looked at KC, trying not to laugh, feeling completely duped.

“Good morning, my name is Hamer.” He was dressed in a white shirt and linen pants, wire-rim glasses perched on a long nose, his dark mustache working overtime to de-emphasize its size. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-two, probably a student, from Bilkent University in Ankara, working toward a doctorate.

Michael looked around at the small tour group of Europeans and Americans.

“It’s the nickel tour,” KC whispered in his ear.