The Thieves of Darkness (17 page)

He eventually settled in a flat off of Piccadilly Circus. He loved the night life, the neon, the vibrance that permeated the air. It was where he based himself, out of the three-bedroom apartment. And as the years went on, he bought himself a house in Istanbul, a grand summer house that overlooked the water. It was the land of his mother’s birth, and while she and his father died before he ever saw them again, he felt connected to her. He learned her language, he learned her culture.

So at the age of twenty-one he left behind the mundane name Chris Miller, and embracing the culture that he had once shunned, he chose his new name. It was one word, as his father was known as Rusty and his mother was known as Nuray. He would be known only as Iblis. He had found it to be most fitting, a name that would instill fear, for it was the Arabic word for the Devil.

Busch scrubbed the marble back to white, stuffing the now-crimson bath towels into a large garbage bag, which he would dispose of later. He fought back the nausea as he cleaned up Simon’s blood, trying not to dwell on his friend’s pain and suffering. Busch couldn’t seem to shake the image from his mind; it was as if he were still on the force, witnessing the horrific violation of an innocent, except that the victim was one of his closest friends. Busch scrubbed harder, as if to erase the images from his mind as much as the blood from the floor. But as was so often the case with Busch, his emotions eventually ran to anger and rage; whoever had done this to his friend would face his wrath.

“How the hell did they get out of here so fast?” Michael said, shaking Busch out of his anger.

“We’re not in Kansas anymore,” Busch said. “Different rules. I’m sure a back-door, no-questions-asked exit doesn’t cost more than a few dollars.”

Michael knew they couldn’t call the police. It would all come pointing back at them. Michael and KC were both thieves, there was no record of their coming into the country, and who knew what bells and whistles would be going off if Michael’s name were run through Interpol.

Michael looked out toward the balcony, out toward KC, who hadn’t
said a word in the last fifteen minutes. Michael had had enough of the silence and walked outside. “You need to tell me what’s going on.”

KC looked at Michael but remained silent.

“Simon only spoke of stealing a chart,” Michael continued. “Neither of you ever mentioned any artifact. Anything else on your illegal shopping list?”

“I don’t know what it is,” KC said, her eyes still staring out at the lights shining upon the enormous dome of Hagia Sophia. “Simon said he was going to get it himself.”

Michael could see it in her eyes, he could hear it in her voice. She wasn’t telling him the whole story and there was no time for games. “KC, I need to know what you guys were doing, I need to know everything.”

“I told you everything,” KC said, looking away.

Michael tried to hold himself back but his emotions got the better of him. “What the hell is the Caduceus? You were planning two thefts. Were you going to tell me? Jesus, KC, what else are you lying about?”

“Lying?” KC spun back on Michael, her eyes wide. “Lying? My sister was kidnapped.”

“That’s right, and unless you start telling me the truth—everything—it’s going to be pretty damn hard to get her and Simon back.”

“I don’t want your help.” KC stood.

“I really don’t care,” Michael said, glaring at her.

“Stay out of it.” KC roughly brushed past him.

“Not a chance.” Michael was right on her heels.

KC raced through the living room, past Busch, ripped open the door, and slammed it behind her.

Busch looked at Michael. “Nice going.”

“Fuck you.”

B
USCH WALKED INTO
his suite at the Four Seasons Hotel and out onto the balcony to find KC sitting on a wicker chair, staring at nothing. She looked up at his large frame filling the doorway, her eyes distant, pain-filled.

“I see someone besides Michael knows how to get into rooms without a key.”

KC just stared out beyond the water, unamused by Busch’s attempt at levity.

“KC.” Busch gently took a seat in front of her. “Michael’s not working against you. He’s been in your shoes. It’s pretty sad to say, but he has been through this before. He knows what it’s like to hold someone’s life in your hands.”

“I can handle this myself.”

“Can you?” Busch said gently, his deep voice at a whisper. “Can you stay focused, knowing the life of the one you love hangs on your success? I’m sure you’re good at what you do, I don’t doubt that. But you can’t do this alone. You can turn your back on Michael but don’t turn your back on his help.”

“This is my fault,” KC said abruptly. “I’ll fix it.”

“You know, a few years back, I knew someone whose wife was dying. He would have done anything to save her.” Busch paused. “He ran off alone and tried. And you know, as much as he wanted to save her, he made things worse, far worse than you can imagine. He was real reluctant to accept anyone’s help. I had to practically tie him up but he finally accepted it. Now that same guy, Michael, is trying to help you.

“Together, we can get them back and put things right.” Busch looked out at the water, amazed at what he was saying. He was trying to convince someone to go ahead and commit a crime, something that he never would have done a few years back when he was on the force. But he knew the stakes, he knew the pain and guilt KC was feeling. “Trust me and trust Michael.”

KC finally turned to Busch and saw Michael come through the hallway door into the suite. He carried Simon’s briefcase, which was about to burst at its seams.

KC looked across the distance at Michael, the moment hanging in the air. Michael held tight to the case as he walked into the living room. Busch looked between the two of them, waiting, hoping…

KC finally stood up.

“It’s a staff, a rod, really, about two feet long.” KC came in off the porch. “Entwined with two snakes, teeth bared at each other. It is covered in jewels with ruby eyes, teeth of silver. There’s a drawing of it in Simon’s case.”

Busch stood in the balcony doorway and winked knowingly at Michael.

Michael opened Simon’s case and removed the reams of documents, spreading them on the large coffee table. KC took a seat on the couch before Michael as they exchanged a glance of truce. She thumbed through the papers and pulled out a reproduction of a painting of a heavyset man, his round face covered in a dark beard, dressed in long maroon and blue robes over a white and gold shirt. Upon his head was a large white turban, a green tassel capped in pearls and diamonds in the center of the headpiece. He lounged upon a sea of green pillows as a cadre of subjects stood before him. In his right hand was clutched a staff while his left hand was raised palm down before his people.

Attached to the painting was a photograph, an enlargement of the staff, its detail revealing a bejeweled dark rod, two snakes coiled up the shaft, their bodies adorned with precious gems. At the crown of the staff, the two snakes faced each other, jaws wide, ready to strike, their silver teeth glinting and deadly.

As Michael stared at the object his mind itched; he had seen the staff before and on more than one occasion.

“Look familiar?” KC asked.

Michael nodded.

“The Rod of Asclepius looks similar to this; a single snake coiling up a wooden staff. Asclepius was the son of Apollo and the god of healing, and his staff became the symbol of the American Medical Association and the World Health Organization, and is on the doors of most ambulances.”

Michael picked up the picture, examining it up close.

“It more closely resembles the Caduceus,” KC continued. “An ancient astrological symbol of commerce carried by the Greek god Hermes. He was the messenger between the gods and man, and, among
other things, conducted the dead to the afterlife. And, ready for this? He was the protector of merchants, liars, and thieves.”

“Great, that’s what we need to hear,” Busch said.

“In Greek myths, Hermes was the only god besides Hades and Persephone who could enter and leave the underworld without interference.”

“Don’t even go down that road. Mystic mumbo jumbo…” Busch scolded.

KC continued, “Hermes’s herald staff is usually depicted with entwined snakes rising up the rod with two wings attached to the upper section behind two opposing snake heads. Oddly enough, many medical organizations, your surgeon general, and the U.S. Army and Navy Medical Corps, erroneously use it as their symbol, not realizing its contradiction.”

“Figures,” Busch said with a heavy exhalation. “You’re not implying that this rod is some myth; please tell me you’re not saying that.”

KC shook her head and came close to smiling. “No, it’s an artifact, modeled after the Caduceus. It’s priceless.”

“What its significance is doesn’t concern me,” Michael said to Busch. He turned back to KC. “Where is it?”

KC again dug through the papers and pulled out an ancient sketch of a man who was anything but what Michael expected. This man was tall, with a close-cropped beard, and there was no question of the man’s Eastern European origins. Michael had expected someone darker, like an Arab or North African, forgetting that then, as now, the city they stood in was a true crossroads of the world.

“Sokollu Mehmet Pasha was a grand vizier, a man of great power and connections. He was Serbian, taken from his family as a child, as the Ottoman sultans did in many of the Christian lands they conquered. He was raised and educated by the Empire, quickly rising through the military ranks. He had previously served not only as head of the imperial guard but as the high admiral of the imperial fleet, where he became a close friend of Piri Reis, also an admiral in the Ottoman navy—
Reis
actually means
admiral
in Turkish.

“Before Piri Reis was publicly beheaded in Egypt in 1555, he entrusted to Mehmet two items: the second half of the world map that he compiled in 1513, and this rod, which had been given to Piri years earlier by his uncle, Kemal, who asked him to use his wisdom to determine the two artifacts’ fate and whether man would ever be worthy to understand their significance.

“The rod was the sole piece of treasure that Kemal had kept from a ship he had captured in the Indian Ocean many years earlier. Mehmet kept the rod and Piri’s chart in two different areas of his private estate, taking years to ponder the fate of the two objects.

“Several years later Selim II ascended the throne. He was the son of Suleiman the Magnificent, one of the greatest leaders of the sixteenth century. It was under Suleiman’s reign that the Ottoman Empire became a world leader and reached its golden age. He led his armies in the conquests of Rhodes, Belgrade, most of the Middle East, and northern Africa. The Ottoman navy dominated the seas. With Admiral Piri Reis at the helm, they controlled the Mediterranean, the Red Sea, and the Persian Gulf. Suleiman was considered a great statesman, military leader, and ruler, one who was fair and just.

“But his son, Selim II, was far different. He had no interest in the military and abandoned much of his rule to his grand vizier, Mehmet, so he could indulge his more decadent interests. Selim was sultan from 1566 to 1574 and nothing like his father. As good as his father was, as much as his father accomplished for his kingdom and people, Selim did the opposite. He stayed in the harem, always drunk, never paying any mind to his subjects, the Empire, the world.

“Selim was an egotistical drunk who fancied himself like the Egyptian pharaohs of old, though he refused to wear the Uraeus crown of the pharaohs, those crowns with the single snake poised to strike. While visiting Mehmet’s home, Selim saw the rod, took one look at it, and snatched it away, fascinated by the intricate serpent design. He carried the Caduceus like a scepter as a symbol of his power, holding out the dual snake heads as a warning.

“Now, Mehmet was considered one of the greatest viziers the
Empire had ever known. He had been the grand vizier to Suleiman and continued his role under Selim. He actually led the kingdom much as Suleiman did due to Selim’s lack of interest. Mehmet was considered a brilliant leader in politics and warfare who thought far ahead, beyond where other men could. As to the rod, he had a promise to keep to his friend Piri; he knew he would get it back and dispose of it, he just had to bide his time.”

“What’s the significance of the rod to Simon, why does he want it so bad?” Busch interjected.

“Simon never said—”

“I don’t care about that right now,” Michael interrupted with anger in his voice. “What happened to the rod?”

“Mehmet had tried on many an occasion to get the sultan to part with it, telling him stories that it might carry a curse, that it would bring pain and suffering, that it was beneath him to rely on a scepter like some Western European dandy ruler, but the drunken sultan barely listened to his chief advisor. Mehmet’s words went unheeded.

“Upon Selim’s death, Mehmet realized that through the sultan’s help he would actually be able to carry out Piri’s wish. As grand vizier, Mehmet was in charge of the sultan’s burial arrangements and worked to have a tomb built for the sultan, a tomb that took three years to construct.”

“Are you saying …?” Busch said, hoping the answer wasn’t what he expected.

“The rod is buried with the body of Sultan Selim II.”

“So let me get this straight. You go through this big elaborate story to tell me that we’re grave robbing?” Busch said. “This is bullshit. I don’t know about you, but I’ve got a big problem with disturbing the dead.”

“Where’s his grave?” Michael asked, ignoring Busch.

“It’s a tomb, actually,” KC said as she stood up and walked toward the door of the hotel room. She stopped and turned back. “Well, are you coming?”

Michael and Busch followed her out the door, reluctant and confused.
They walked down the hall to KC’s suite and followed her through the living room, out onto her balcony.

The three looked out on the old city, at Topkapi Palace, at the surrounding neighborhood alive with locals and tourists, and finally at the enormous building that filled their view to the left. It was a tremendous central domed structure from the age of Byzantium, its basilica design climbing 150 feet in the air. Wrapped in hundreds of arched windows and smaller domes, it looked like a great church lost to history, but the two-hundred-foot minarets that stood at the four corners left no doubt that they were looking at one of the world’s finest mosques.