“I’d like to know what a gold crown inscribed in Latin is doing on an Ottoman shipwreck,” Pitt said.
“We may never know, but I’m curious to see what else is on that wreck,” Ruppé replied. “Strange as it seems, there’s actually been only a small number of Ottoman wrecks discovered in the Med.”
“If you can notify the Turkish authorities of our find, we’ll do what we can to help,” Pitt said. He handed Ruppé a nautical chart with the wreck’s location marked in red. “It’s pretty close to Chios, so the Greeks might have something to say about it.”
“I’ll make a call first thing in the morning,” Ruppé said. “Is there any chance you and your vessel could help initiate a full survey of the site?”
Pitt smiled. “I’d like nothing more than to figure out exactly what we found. I’ll manage to divert our vessel for a day or two. We have an archaeologist already aboard who can help direct the work.”
“Fine, fine. I’m on good terms with the Turkish Ministry of Culture. They’ll be pleased to know that the wreck is in good hands.”
He looked at Loren, who was fighting to keep her eyes open.
“My dear, forgive my historic ramblings. It’s very late, and I need to get you back to your hotel.”
“You better, before I lie down to sleep on one of the sarcophagi outside.”
Ruppé locked up his office, then escorted them past the guard and out of the building. As they were descending the museum’s steps, a pair of muted explosions erupted in the distance, and a series of nearby alarms sounded suddenly, echoing over the high walls of Topkapi. The trio stopped, astonished, and listened to the faint voices of men shouting and then the pop of gunfire rattling through the night sky. More shots were fired, the sounds drawing closer to them. Seconds later, the door to the museum opened behind them, and the security guard came running toward them with a horrified look on his face.
“The palace is under attack!” he yelled. “The Chamber of the Sacred Relics in Topkapi has been raided, and the guards at Bâb-üs Selâm are not responding. I must make sure the gate is barricaded.”
Bâb-üs Selâm, or the Gate of Salutations, was the main entry point into the enclosed sanctuary of Topkapi Palace. It was a high-towered palisade resembling a Disneyland castle, where tourists lined up in the morning to explore the palace and grounds of the grand Ottoman sultans. A security station was located just inside the gate, which housed several Turkish Army guards assigned to night duty. Situated just up the road, the gate was clearly wide open, and no guards were visible.
The museum guard, Avni, sprinted past Ruppé and across the parking lot. About a hundred yards from the gate, he ran past a white utility van parked just off the road. The van’s motor immediately turned over and coughed to life.
Its headlights were turned off, immediately triggering an uneasy feeling in Pitt. Sensing something amiss, he instinctively followed after Avni.
“Be right back,” he grunted, then took off at a sprint.
“Dirk!” Loren shouted, confused at her husband’s sudden reaction. But he didn’t bother to answer when he noticed the white van begin to pull forward.
Pitt knew what was about to happen but was powerless to prevent it. When the van lurched forward with a whining squeal from its motor, he could only watch as if it were a movie scene in slow motion. The van aimed for the museum guard and quickly picked up speed. Running at full tilt, Pitt shouted a warning.
“Avni! Behind you!” he yelled.
But it was a futile gesture. With its headlights still turned off, the van lurched forward and struck the museum guard from behind. His body flew high off the vehicle’s hood, then cartwheeled to the pavement with a thud. The van continued accelerating, then screeched to a stop in front of the open gate.
Pitt kept running, quickly approaching the prone guard. From the grotesque shape of the man’s head, Pitt could tell that the guard’s skull had been shattered, killing him instantly. Unable to do anything for him now, Pitt proceeded toward the van.
The van driver sat behind the wheel, anxiously staring through the open Bâb-üs Selâm portal. With the engine running, he failed to detect Pitt’s footsteps until he was alongside the van. He turned to look out the open side window and was met by a pair of hands that reached in and grabbed him by the collar. Before he could even resist, his head and torso were yanked halfway through the window.
Pitt heard additional footfalls approach, but only caught a shadow out of the corner of his eye as he wrestled with the driver. He had looped an elbow beneath the man’s chin and was nearly ripping his head off. The driver regained his wits and struggled to release Pitt’s grip, jamming his knees under the steering wheel and flailing with his arms. But Pitt was able to exert pressure on the driver’s throat until he gasped for air, then started to fall limp in his arms.
“Let him go,” a female voice suddenly barked.
Pitt turned toward the prone body of the dead museum guard while maintaining his grip on the choking van driver. Loren and Ruppé had followed him up the road to assist Avni and were now positioned alongside the dead man. Ruppé was leaning down on one knee, holding his hand to a bloody gash inflicted across his forehead, while Loren stood alongside looking at Pitt with fear in her eyes.
Standing beside them was a short woman wearing a black ski mask, sweater, and pants. She stood with her arm extended, pointing a pistol at Loren’s head.
“Let him go,” she said once more to Pitt, “or the woman dies.”
4
Topkapi palace was the grand residence of the Ottoman sultans for nearly four hundred years. A sprawling maze of garnished tiled buildings and chambers built on a hillside compound overlooking the Golden Horn, the palace contained a treasury of Turkey’s rich history. The popular and crowded guided tours provided a glimpse into the personal lives of the ruling sultans, while showcasing an impressive collection of art, weapons, and jewelry. Yet amid the royal opulence, the palace contained a serious collection of holy Islamic relics revered throughout the world. And it was these objects that the thieves had targeted.
A catering van had easily smuggled a small cache of arms and plastic explosives into the palace grounds several days before. The thieves merely entered the complex as tourists late in the day and quietly slipped aside, hiding in a groundskeeper’s shed. Under cover of darkness, long after the last tourists had left and the entrances secured, the thieves collected their weapons and moved on the Chamber of the Sacred Relics, where many of the holy objects were stored.
The actual assault took barely a minute, as they blasted their way through a side wall with the explosives, then shot and killed a nearby guard. They quickly gathered their desired relics, then escaped through the damaged wall.
The thieves had carefully orchestrated a series of small, diversionary explosions at various points around the compound as they made their way south on foot. Once past the main gate, they would be whisked off the grounds in the waiting van. It would take only a few minutes from there to reach the maze of Sultanahmet’s winding streets and become lost to the night.
Police sirens wailed in the distance as two men in black sprinted through Bâb-üs Selâm, each toting a canvas bag. The woman aiming the handgun at Loren immediately barked clipped orders to the men as they approached the van. The two thieves threw their bags in the back, then dragged the semiconscious driver there and laid him out. One of the men hurried around front and climbed into the driver’s seat, while the second man produced his own pistol and leveled it at Loren. The woman barked again at Pitt.