The Thieves of Darkness (23 page)

KC turned, suddenly alone, clutching her flashlight as if it would somehow protect her from the darkness. “Michael?”

But he did not surface.

“Michael?” she said in a loud whisper. “Dammit.”

She waded through the water to where Michael had disappeared, aiming the beam of her light under the water, looking for any sign of him. She felt the current washing about her body. Thirty seconds gone. She shone her light and spotted a four-foot dark pipe under the water. She waited. One minute gone.

What KC hadn’t told Michael, what she never really shared with anyone, was her fear of the dark, a phobia she had had since the age of six, when she would lie alone in bed watching the shadows on her wall as the voice of her mother came from her bedroom. Her mother would scream and whisper, laugh and cry as if talking to a room full of guests, as if there were actually people in the room with her. And
with her mother’s breakdowns, the shadows seemed to dance, seemed to reach toward her to pull her into some other, frightening world. Her mother would often break down in tears or lash out in anger at the disembodied ghosts of her mind, sending terror through young KC’s heart. KC’s eyes would dart about the darkened room in anticipation of being snatched away by some unseen demon into a realm where the darkness consumed her.

As the years went on, KC had mastered her emotions, but the fear never really left her, and sometimes when she was in the dark, when that fear rose up, she thought she could hear her mother’s voice again calling to her in whispers and screams, pulling her back to those terrible nights.

Now, as KC stood alone, clutching the flashlight in the dark cavern, her nerves began to fray. Where was Michael? Was he trapped, and if she went through the pipe would she become stuck also? Would they drown together? A minute and half. Her fear became anger. She was pissed.

“Dammit, Michael.” And she dove under the cold water.

KC shone her light through a wide pipe, thankful that Michael’s flashlights were waterproof dive lights. She kicked against the mild current, using her free hand against the slimy tube to guide her. And before she knew it she was through, emerging into a smaller room, an anteroom of the cistern, its waters reaching her shoulders.

But there was no sign of Michael.

“Michael,” KC whispered, as if she would somehow disturb the dead, as if someone would hear her. She directed her light about a three-foot-wide walkway that circled the room one foot above the water’s surface. She grabbed the lip and pulled herself up and out of the water. Though the air was cool, it was far better than the water’s chill, which was seeping into her bones. She shone her light about the walkway, finding it completely dry; Michael hadn’t gotten out of the water. She had risen to her feet when suddenly Michael exploded up out of the water on the far side of the room, gasping for breath in deep, heavy sighs.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“What?” Michael looked at her, bewildered and confused. “There’s
another pipe, about forty feet long; it leads to another room. I was checking it out.”

“Don’t you ever do that again!” KC yelled.

Michael looked at her as he regained his composure. “You okay?”

KC glared at Michael, wanting to punch him.

“Were you worried about me?” Michael couldn’t help breaking out in a smile.

“What do you think?”

“You look like you saw a ghost.” Michael swam over to the ledge and hoisted himself up.

“Did you find anything?” KC asked, trying to change the subject.

“Far as I can tell, this ledge runs the circumference of the room.” Michael pointed to the opposite wall. “There’s an old doorway over there, with three rising stairs abutting it. That must be the sealed stairwell that led up into the harem. On the other side of this wall, where I just came from, is another antechamber. It looks like the cistern control room, with a high shaft.” Michael paused. “The shaft leads right up into the Turkish baths in the harem that we saw this morning.” Michael held up the quarter she had tossed in. “I got you a full refund.”

Michael pointed to the wall on his left. “We know the way we came in through the cistern is behind that third wall…”

KC rose to her feet and walked to the fourth wall, running her hands along it.

“That’s the only one with nothing behind it.” Michael walked around and came up next to her. “Look at the walkway.”

KC looked down, her eyes following the pathway around the room. “Yeah?”

“It’s six inches narrower here,” Michael pointed out as he crouched. He patted the wall. “This wall was built well after they constructed this walkway.”

“Michael, that doesn’t necessarily mean that the chapel is behind this wall.”

“I know, but I think this symbol does,” Michael said, pointing to some ancient symbols etched in a stone at the near corner of the wall.
They were small and crude, and at first glance, looked like nothing more than a mason’s notation of looping lines and letters.

Michael pulled out a photocopy of the letter that KC had stolen from Venue and held it up. Though wet and beginning to run, the symbol in the upper right-hand corner was a match.

“This is the symbol of Grand Vizier Sokollu Mehmet, and Simon has written beneath it,
The Sons of Abraham
. That’s what the grand vizier believed. He was a man of understanding and appreciated different beliefs—three religions, Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, united by a common God, a common prophet, Abraham.” Michael stepped back, walking out along the walkway to the far side of the cistern antechamber, taking in the wall, the room. His eyes focused on the structure before him. “I’m sure the chapel that he built is behind this solid wall.”

“That’s great.” KC paused, looking at the stone and mortar and the impossible solidity of the barrier. “How the hell are we going to get through that wall?”

“Don’t worry about it; we found what we came for.” Michael checked his waterproof watch: It was after ten-thirty. “We have to get back to the restaurant to avoid raising any suspicion in your friend Iblis.”

“Please don’t call him that,” KC said in all seriousness.

“Sorry.” Michael nodded.

KC jumped into the water and made a beeline for the drainpipe. “You still didn’t say how you’re going to get through that wall.”

Michael jumped into the water behind her and waded over to the pipe before glancing back at the stone and brick barrier. “I suppose I’ll have to use something that goes boom.”

“Great. That makes me feel so much better,” KC said as she dove under the water.

Michael and KC came through the back of the restaurant, slipped the maître d’ another two hundred, and walked out the front door. They stood on the sidewalk in the dry clothes that Busch had kept in the car for them and watched as their friend drove around the corner and stopped the car right in front of them. Busch came around and, with a wink, opened the rear door for them to enter the limo they had just exited not two minutes earlier and one block away.

They had climbed out of the cistern and back onto the roof of the palace, working their way around to the front of the building. Still dripping, and with the coiled ropes on their shoulders, they slipped over the far western wall into the side street, where Busch picked them up.

“You know there are going to be hundreds of people here tomorrow night, and who knows how many guards, cops, and undercovers.”

“Which is all the more reason to do it,” Michael said. “People won’t be expecting someone to be foolish enough to pull any kind of stunt tomorrow. And Iblis—it’s the last thing he’ll suspect, especially if he watches you go into Hagia Sophia.”

KC nodded.

“And good old Paul here, he’ll be keeping an eye on Iblis to make sure he doesn’t do anything unexpected.”

KC and Busch exchanged smiles through the rearview mirror.

“Speaking of which,” Michael said, “where is our friend?”

“Five cars back,” Busch said. “He watched you guys walk in and out of the restaurant and didn’t move a bit.”

Michael and KC turned and looked out the rear window but saw nothing but a sea of yellow taxis. “How you can see him is beyond me,” KC said.

“He’s got two guys with him now. I imagine they’ll be watching the hotel for the night while he goes and gets some shut-eye.” Busch paused. “So this thing is a go?”

“We’ve got some kinks to work out on my end.” KC turned and smiled at Michael. “And Michael needs to find something that goes boom.”

“I can’t tell you how dangerous it is for him to handle anything flammable; even a match in his hands can prove world-ending.” Busch laughed to himself as he pulled up to the hotel. “I think I’m going to hit the hotel bar. I’ll see you bright and early.”

“Good night, Paul. Thanks is such an inadequate word,” KC said.

“From you? It’s better than anything I could wish for.”

KC and Michael stepped from the limo and headed into the hotel lobby.

“Well, that was the most unique date I have ever been on,” Michael said.

KC smiled at Michael. “I don’t know if I would call it a date.”

“What would you call it?” Michael walked a little closer to her as they neared the elevator.

“Michael,” KC said softly, suddenly at a loss for words.

Michael could see the regret forming in her eyes, the air between them growing suddenly uncomfortable.

“I don’t think you and I—”

The elevator arrived and they stepped in.

As they stood alone in the elevator cab, the air was thick; what had been easy banter had fallen to an uncomfortable struggle for words. The doors had begun to close when a hand shot through and pulled them back open.

“Hold up,” an elderly man with a French accent said. And suddenly
a crowd of eight poured into the cab meant for six. Michael and KC were forced together, their bodies thrust up against each other.

“Sorry.” Michael looked deep into KC’s eyes.

She couldn’t help the warmth that poured through her. Their lips were only inches apart as the crowd shook and jostled, trying to make room for the door to close. “Me too,” KC whispered.

The elevator rose slowly. Michael and KC were in their own worlds, ignoring the laughing and chattering French crowd. The elevator came to a stop on the third floor and the French all poured off in a cacophony of merriment, leaving Michael and KC alone in silence.

The doors closed and opened again moments later, letting them out on the fourth floor.

Michael walked KC down to her door. He couldn’t help looking at her blonde hair in the soft hallway lights, her body as it gently swayed beside him.

“Michael,” KC said, and though she turned her head toward Michael she averted her eyes. “I’m so sorry I have dragged you into this.”

“You didn’t drag me.”

“I can’t get the image of Cindy’s tears out of my head, and Simon…” KC paused. “I lied to her about everything; I lied to you.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not, you thought you were with one person, someone upstanding, someone truthful … but that’s not me. Our time together was based on lies.”

“KC,” Michael said, seeing her pain.

“I’m done lying, I’m done hiding.”

“You lied for a reason.”

“We can’t lie to the ones we love. I see what that has done to Cindy. I need to tell you the truth.”

Michael smiled warmly.

“I think some people aren’t meant for love and I think some people are meant to be loved unconditionally.” KC took a breath. “I can’t replace your wife—”

“I’m not asking you to—”

“Let me finish. I don’t know how to do this. You are such a good person, you deserve so much, and I have nothing to offer…”

“KC, this isn’t the time to be thinking about these things. Let’s focus on getting your sister and Simon back, then we’ll figure this thing out together. No one knows how to play the relationship game, least of all me.” Michael reached out and warmly ran his hand down KC’s cheek. “Let’s just put things aside for now. There’s always tomorrow.”

KC looked into his eyes, their faces inches apart, the moment hanging in the air.

“I’m sorry, Michael.” KC stepped back as she slid the electronic key card in her door. “Good night.”

T
HE DOOR CLICKED
shut as KC walked into her suite. She headed straight upstairs, went directly into her oversized bathroom, turned on the shower, and undressed. She stepped into the granite stall, allowing the hot water to beat down on her body, hoping that it would somehow restore her. After five minutes, with exhaustion filling her soul, she turned off the water, wrapped herself in an oversized towel, and emerged back into the marble bathroom.

A sudden fear ran through her; momentarily shaken, she grabbed her pants off the floor and dug into a front pocket, thinking it was gone. But her hand wrapped around it and pulled it out. She clutched the tiny object tightly in her palm and slid down the wall to sit on the floor as the steam from the shower slowly dissipated from the room.

She had done everything in her power for it not to be found by the guards when she was frisked in Amsterdam, when Iblis patted her down and found Michael’s father’s business card in her pocket. She’d been able to shift it around when she arrived at Chiron Prison with no one ever the wiser. Its resale value was nothing spectacular, but its sentimental value was priceless. It was the only gift someone had ever given her out of love. She read the inscription,
There’s always tomorrow
, and slipped the Tiffany locket around her neck. She closed her eyes and held it tightly, as if she was holding Michael’s heart, and dozed off upon the towels on the bathroom floor.

* * *

M
ICHAEL STOOD ON
the balcony of his hotel suite, looking out at nighttime Istanbul, across the Bosporus at Asia, his mind lost in KC’s words. She had reawakened in him something he thought had died, something he thought he had buried with Mary. Somewhere, deep down within him, she had found his heart.

Despite her trepidation, despite her words, Michael could not let her go that easily. She was strong and smart, her emotions were being tested against seemingly insurmountable odds, and yet she pushed on with a smile. They were so much alike, not only in what they did, in their less-than-conventional skills, but in personality and character.