“The emperor Zeno and the empress Ariadne,” breathed Kerbussyan. “The donors.” His fingers fumbled at the central catch, and then he threw open the doors of the reliquary.
Numen flooded off it like water off a broaching whale, filling the room with emotional power, like light for the deeper feelings. The door on the left was inscribed with a gold and enamel-work martyrdom of St. Hrip’sime, and on the right was St. Gregory preaching to the Armenian nobles, assisted by angels. In the center, the golden face of the Illuminator stared out, terrible and marvelous, his eyes great sapphires, alive with blue flames.
The three Armenians fell to their knees and crossed themselves, and there was a chorused prayer in the ancient tongue. Marlene felt her own knees dip involuntarily, and her hand twitched to make the cross. Karp, the Jewish pagan, just watched, fascinated in spite of himself.
After some time, they shut the doors and wrapped up the soul of Armenia in its padding. Kerbussyan was nearly speechless with gratitude.
“Please,” he said, “what can I do for you? You must let me give you some-anything … anything I have.”
“Thank you, Mr. Kerbussyan, but I can’t accept anything. It’s just my job. We return stolen property, and the fact that it was stolen a long time ago doesn’t enter. I’m glad you got it back.”
She walked them to the door. They were going to go to Centre Street to pick up Aram Tomasian. Marlene was thinking, naturally enough, about roots, about lost homelands, and a thought flashed into her mind.
“Ah, there is one small favor, if you could,” she said hesitantly.
“Ask.”
“You’re in the real estate business. Do you know a guy named Morton Lepkowitz?”
“The name is familiar. What about him?”
Marlene explained their condo-conversion predicament.
“I’ll take care of it,” he said.
“How?”
“My dear, don’t worry about it. What you have done is worth a bracelet of buildings like this one. As long as there are Armenians you will never want for a home. That is the same as forever.” He gave her a flash of his shark’s smile and left, flanked by his minions, bearing treasure.
Marlene walked back to the mattress. She felt lightheaded, wired, and exhausted at the same time. Karp was waiting for her there, propped up on pillows, his hands behind his head. “Well,” he said, “did you get your bribe?”
“It’s not a bribe. I just asked him to see if he could convince Lepkowitz to go easy on us, and he said he’d do it.”
“I bet. Has it occurred to you what’s going to happen when all this comes out at the trial?”
Marlene got into bed and looked at him. “Trial? Who, Djelal? He’ll never go to trial. He’ll plead to the top count.”
“What makes you so sure, Counselor?”
“Because if he doesn’t, we’ll deport his ass to Turkey, and they’ll try him for stealing national treasures.”
“He won’t get much for that.”
“It’s a death sentence. How long do you think an ex-cop will last in a Turkish jail? A week? Especially the kind of cop Djelal was. And especially a Turkish jail. No, he’ll do his twenty to life in Attica and be glad about it, and he’ll give us Nassif too. What’s the matter? You look like you swallowed a frog.”
Karp blew air out, puffing his cheeks. “The bad guys are punished, the good guy is out-why don’t I feel right?”
She put an arm around his shoulder and drew him close. “Because,” she said, “you’re basically honest, and you believe in the system, and I’m basically a crook, and I only believe in the system when it comes out the way I want. I believe in myself. How’d that Dylan line go? ‘To live outside the law you must be honest …’ Whatever that means, that’s Marlene.”
Karp said, as Bogart, “Don’t be silly, you’re taking the fall.”
Marlene laughed. “Yeah, I know. You notice that Bogie doesn’t marry Mary Astor and live happily ever after in that one. One of these days you’ll turn my ass in. Why did we get married anyway?”
Karp reached for her. “Because you knew that someday you’re going to need a good lawyer.”