Loren stood on her toes and looked into Pitt’s green eyes, her brow wrinkled.
“It’s a good thing I knew when I married you that you’d always keep the sea as a mistress,” she said.
“Fortunately,” he replied with a grin while holding her close, “I have a heart big enough for the both of you.”
Grabbing her hand, they waded through the terminal crowd and collected his baggage, then caught a taxi to a hotel in Istanbul’s central historic district of Sultanahmet. After a quick shower and change, they hopped another cab for a short ride to a quiet residential area a dozen blocks away.
“Balikçi Sabahattin,” the cabdriver announced.
Pitt helped Loren out onto a quaint cobblestone lane. On the opposite side of the street was the restaurant, housed in a picturesque wood-frame house built in the 1920s. The couple waded past some tables outside to reach the front door and entered an elegant foyer. A thickset man with thinning hair and a jovial smile stepped up and shoved out a hand in greeting.
“Dirk, glad you could find the place,” he said, crushing Pitt’s hand in a vise grip. “Welcome to Istanbul.”
“Thanks, Rey, it’s good to see you again. I’d like you to meet my wife, Loren.”
“A pleasure,” Ruppé replied graciously, shaking Loren’s hand with less vigor. “I hope you can forgive an old shovel jockey’s intrusion on dinner tonight. I’m off to Rome in the morning for an archaeology conference, so this was the only opportunity I had to discuss your husband’s underwater discovery.”
“It’s no intrusion at all. I’m always fascinated by what Dirk pulls off the seafloor,” she said with a laugh. “Plus, you have obviously led us to a lovely dining spot.”
“One of my favorite seafood restaurants in Istanbul,” Ruppé replied.
A hostess appeared and escorted them down a hallway to one of several dining rooms fitted into the former house. They took their seats at a linen-covered table aside a large window that overlooked the back garden.
“Perhaps you can recommend some regional favorites, Dr. Ruppé,” Loren said. “It’s my first visit to Turkey.”
“Please, call me Rey. When in Turkey, you can never go wrong with fish. Both the turbot and sea bass are excellent here. Of course, I can never seem to eat my fill of kebobs, either,” he grinned, rubbing his belly.
After placing their orders, Loren asked Ruppé how long he had lived in Turkey.
“Gosh, going on twenty-five years now. I came over one summer from Arizona State to teach a marine archaeology field school and never left. We located an old Byzantine merchant trader off the shores of Kos that we excavated, and I’ve been busy here ever since.”
“Dr. Ruppé is the foremost authority on Byzantine and Ottoman marine antiquities in the eastern Mediterranean,” Pitt said. “His expertise has been invaluable on many of our projects in the region.”
“Like with your husband, shipwrecks are my true love,” he said. “Since taking the maritime studies post at the Archaeology Museum, I regrettably spend less time in the field than I’d prefer.”
“The burden of management,” Pitt concurred.
The waiter set a large plate of mussels with rice on the table as an appetizer, which they all quickly sampled.
“You certainly work out of a fascinating city,” Loren noted.
“Yes, Istanbul does live up to its nickname as the ‘Queen of Cities.’ Born to the Greeks, raised by the Romans, and matured under the Ottomans. Its legacy of ancient cathedrals, mosques, and palaces can grip even the most jaded historian. But as a home to twelve million people, it does have its challenges.”
“I’ve heard that the political climate is one of them.”
“Is changing it the purpose of your visit, Congresswoman?” Ruppé asked, with a grin.
Loren Smith smiled at the allusion. Though a long-serving House representative from the state of Colorado, she wasn’t much of a political animal.
“Actually, I only came to Istanbul to visit my wayward husband. I’ve been traveling with a congressional delegation touring the south Caucasus and just stopped off on my way back to Washington. A State Department envoy on the plane mentioned that there were U.S. security concerns about the growing fundamentalist movement in Turkey.”
“He’s right. As you know, Turkey is a secular state that is ninety-eight percent Muslim, mostly of the Sunni faith. But there has been a growing movement under Mufti Battal, who’s centered here in Istanbul, for fundamentalist reforms. I’m no expert in these matters, so I can’t tell you the actual extent of his appeal. But 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 Ruppé 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,” Ruppé 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?” Ruppé 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?” Ruppé 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.”