Reilly understood what the legat was talking about. The plane had gone down in international waters. It had taken off from a Greek island. There was only so much the Cypriot authorities could demand to know.
This was different.
Reilly had been directly involved in events that had led to the deaths of several Turkish soldiers, including, Reilly knew, a senior and well-respected officer. The Turkish authorities would want to know exactly how and why that happened.
“I’d rather talk them through it over the phone from Federal Plaza,” Reilly told him.
“Yeah, I don’t blame you. Just leave the talking to me and follow my lead.”
Reilly said he would, then turned to the cardinal. Brugnone just nodded his agreement.
IN THE END, it all went down reasonably smoothly. They were able to get Tess and the old woman out of custody without too much aggravation. The late hour helped, as did the fact that the brass of the Jandarma weren’t based in Konya.
A local police detail was assigned to keep an eye on the old woman and her family business for a few days, although Reilly didn’t think she was in any more danger, not with Zahed dead and the stash of codices gone. Still, it was better to be safe than sorry, and he was happy to know that she’d be protected until things died down.
The pale glimmer of dawn welcomed them as they walked out of the police station. The street was deserted. The city was still well settled into its habitual nightly slumber, with only the hum of scattered air-conditioning condensors detracting from its serenity.
Tess held Reilly’s hand in hers as they walked to the waiting cars. She was exhausted, physically and mentally. She was also deeply disappointed. In a few words, whispered in a snatched, private moment, Reilly had told her and the old woman that the texts had been lost, swallowed up by the sea.
The news had gutted her. The codices had survived close to two thousand years of intrigue. They’d made it through the Crusades, the fall of an expansionist empire, and a couple of World Wars, but they hadn’t survived the savagery of the twenty-first century.
They stopped outside the police car, the one that was taking the old woman back to her son’s apartment above the shop. Tess let go of Reilly’s hand and gave the old woman a hug.
The old woman held on to her for a long moment, then pulled back. “Will I see you tomorrow?” she asked. She had Tess’s hand tightly cupped in both of hers.
Tess hesitated, and turned to Reilly. He was still dosed up on painkillers and looked a mess. She knew he was keen to get out of there as soon as possible. Brugnone’s jet was waiting to fly them out of the country and back to Rome, and they’d take a commercial flight back to New York from there. She also wanted to get home to try to put the madness behind her. But standing there, looking into the old woman’s delicate eyes, she realized she couldn’t leave here like that. She wanted to spend more time with her. In little more than twenty-four hours, they’d been through a lot together, and she felt it would be rude to just disappear from her life like that, even if it wasn’t forever. But she didn’t think she had a choice.
Reilly’s grim expression confirmed it. “I’m sorry,” he told her. “We can’t stay. There’s a plane waiting for us.”
The woman’s expression sagged. “Not even for a few hours in the morning? I was hoping you would come over for breakfast at my son’s place. Over the shop.” She tried to give him a smile, but it barely made it past the melancholy that was weighing her down.
Reilly glanced across at the legat. The man shook his head softly, his expression telegraphing a genuine sense of regret.
“I’m sorry,” Reilly told the woman.
She nodded slowly with resignation. One of the cops opened the car door for her. She stood still for a moment, then turned to Tess and said, “Can you follow me to the shop? On your way to the airport?”
Her words surprised Tess. “What, now?”
She tightened her hold around Tess’s hand. “Yes. I’d like to give you something. A souvenir. Give me the chance to leave you with a nicer memory of Konya than what you’ve seen so far.”
Tess held the woman’s gaze. There was something more there, something unsaid. Something the woman really needed Tess to respond to.
Trying not to telegraph her suspicions and suddenly wary of the cardinal’s presence, she looked a question at Reilly and the legat.
The legat shrugged. “I suppose we could. As long as it’s just a quick stop. And I do mean a quick stop. I don’t want either of you here a minute longer than you need to be.”
THE LEGAT AND THE CARDINAL WAITED in the comfort of the air-conditioned car while Tess and Reilly joined the old woman outside the storefront.
She woke her son up and got him to come down and unlock its entrance for them, then shooed him away and sent him back up to bed before inviting them in.
Tess hadn’t really noticed how gorgeous some of their ceramics were. There were vases, bowls, and plates of all sizes, elegantly shaped and exquisitely painted.
“Choose anything you like, please,” the old woman told them. “I’ll be right back.”
Tess watched her step away to the back of the store and disappear down some stairs that must have led to a basement.
She glanced at Reilly. He looked rough and weary, like being there was the last thing in the world he needed. Which, in fairness, it probably was.
She was hoping it would prove different.
She was about to confide her suspicions to him when the woman reappeared. Two things immediately signaled to her that she was right, and she felt a flutter in the pit of her belly. One was the way the old woman glanced furtively beyond her and Reilly and out the shop window, as if she were checking to see if anyone was watching. The other was what she was carrying.
It was an old shoebox.
The old woman cast another look out front, then presented the box to Tess. “These are for you.”
Tess’s heart jumped a couple of gears as she looked at her quizzically. She wanted to ask the obvious question, but the words died out in her throat. She just took the box and opened it.
It was filled with dozens of plastic sleeves.
Tess took one out and opened it up. It was about six inches wide and was all folded up on itself, like an accordion-style wallet sleeve that people used to hold family photos in the pre-iPhone era.
She opened it up.
It was made up of a couple dozen pockets, each one about an inch and a half tall. Inside each pocket was a six-inch strip. On each strip were four 35mm negatives.
Tess knew what they were before she held the sleeve up to the light. Although the image was dark and reversed, she could see the distinct silhouette of a rectangular object against a neutral background. Some of them showed the backflaps and the leather ties clearly. The image on each negative was reversed, so the object in the photographs looked dark, its background light. Inside the dark rectangles were rows of tiny, light characters, as if written in white ink on a black page.
The writings on the codices.
They were there. Lots and lots of them.
“You took these?” she asked the woman.
“My husband did. Many years ago, long before he died. We thought we had to keep some kind of record of them, in case they were ever destroyed in a fire or something. They were so fragile, we had to be very careful, but we managed it. I have prints of all the pictures in storage, but they’re too heavy for you to carry without anyone noticing.”
Tess’s fingers skipped deeper into the box. “Are they all in here?”
The old woman nodded. “Every page of every book.” She shrugged, a pall of resignation darkening her face. “I know they won’t convince anyone. People will easily say these pictures are fakes. But it’s the best I can do.”